THE 
FIGHTING 

CHANCE 


BV'GLR    RUDL 


" '/  want  you  to  take  me  home  with  you,  Kenneth. 


The  Romance    of  an   Ingenue 

BY 
GERTRUDE   LYNCH 

ILLUSTRATED    BY    BAYARD    JONES 


1903 


PUBLISHING  CO. 
NEW   YORK  LONDON 


COPYRIGHTED 
June,  1902,  by 
ESS  ESS 
PUBLISHING  CO. 


COPYRIGHTED 
1903,  by 
THE  SMART  SET 
PUBLISHING  CO. 


First  Printing  in  May 


THE  FIGHTING  CHANCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  MATTER  OF  DIPLOMACY. 

"  NATURE,"  said  the  statesman,  as  he  strode 
about  the  rose  garden  with  his  hands  under  his 
coat-tails  and  quoted  from  his  own  famous  speech, 
"  nature,  I  repeat,  gives  every  man  a  fighting 
chance."  A  pause;  then:  "Men,  of  course  in- 
clude women," 

"  Embrace,"  corrected  Mrs.  de  la  Mar,  softly. 

The  statesman  admitted  the  improvement  with 
a  bow.  "  Your  sex  will  always  veer  to  the  per- 
sonal." 

"  Some  of  it  is  so  impersonal,  dear  statesman." 
13 


2136701 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

"  Do  not  tempt  me — it  is  useless ;  I  am  your 
husband's  guest,  and  I  have  not  forgotten  that 
you  refused  me  for  him,  neither  of  which  is  the 
real  reason." 

"  Let  bygones  be  bygones." 
"  Precisely ;  that  is  the  real  reason." 
"  It  was  excusable,"  again  murmured  Mrs.  de 
la  Mar  in  the  sweet  syllables  that  were  a  monotone 
between  a  whisper  and  a  voice.     "  You  were 
speaking  of  righting  chances,  and  I  assume  that 
when  a  man  broaches  that  topic  he  can  only 

mean " 

"  I  thought  you  knew  me  better ;  it  would  be 
trite  to  speak  of  rules  and  exceptions,  but  I  must 
remind  you  that  in  our  acquaintance,  extending 
over  a  quarter  of  a  century,  there  have  been  di- 
versions from  the  normal  often  enough  to  pre- 
vent you  from  expecting  the  commonplace." 

"  Then  you — "  Mrs.  de  la  Mar's  fingers  were 
clattering  the  tea-cups  on  the  table  that  the  ser- 
vant had  just  wheeled  toward  them — "  you  were 

thinking  of ?" 

14 


A  Matter  of  Diplomacy. 

"  I  was  thinking  of — whom  do  you  suppose  ?  " 
"  I  have  no  idea;  it  is  your  role  to  be  enigma- 
tic."    Mrs.  de  la  Mar  looked  honest  surprise. 

"  But  not  my  monopoly.  Do  you  recall  that 
you  sent  me  once  to  meet  a  friend  of  yours  at 
the  station — in  the  old  days — said  that  I  would 
know  her  because  she  was  so  illogical  ?  " 

"  You  are  trying  to  evade.     I  believe  you  really 

did  mean " 

"  Not  at  all.  I  am  waiting  for  you  to  guess." 
"  I  cannot.  Let  me  see.  Fighting  chances ! 
You  might  be  thinking  of  Kate  Chayne,  who  is 
interested  in  a  woman's  exchange — her  sweet- 
heart for  her  friend's — or  of  Craig  Willing,  who 
is  speculating  in  heiresses;  or  of  Miles  Eustace, 
who  is  bravely  fighting  the  Boer  war  on  the  boule- 
vards of  London  and  Paris  as  well  as  on  Fifth 
avenue ;  or  of  Lloyd  Ailes,  who  is  spending  a  for- 
tune to  be  unanimously  elected  to  something  or 
other;  or  of  Mrs.  Steelside,  who  is  debating  be- 
tween a  yachting  trip  and  a  Pullman  special  as 
the  spider's  web  to  connect  the  domestic  and 
15 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

church  altars  for  her  brood  of  seve.,.  The  fight- 
ing chance !  Who  can  tell  who  has  it,  or  when, 
or  why?  Tell  me!  don't  tease  me.  I  know 
when  you  stride  up  and  down  that  way  and  be- 
come epigrammatic  that  you  mean  something — 
something  unusual." 

"I  have  no  desire  to  keep  you  in  suspense; 
the  discussion  was  your  own.  I  was  thinking 
of — Kenneth  Bigelow." 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  had  been  sitting  so  that  her 
profile  was  in  evidence;  this  being  one  of  her 
strategic  positions,  she  employed  it  only  in  mo- 
ments that  preceded  a  situation  or  accompanied 
it.  Even  in  the  untempered  light  of  the  open, 
she  did  not  look  a  day  over  twenty-eight,  and  al- 
though the  memory  of  her  relatives — the  unfail- 
ing calendar  of  one's  errors — never  allowed  her  to 
forget  that  she  had  passed  the  fourth  decade,  she 
justified  her  own  belief  that  age  is  merely  a  matter 
of  conduct;  and  for  once  a  creed  and  its  practice 
were  entirely  harmonious.  In  her  confusion,  she 
forgot  her  studied  pose,  and,  turning  sharply 

16 


A  Matter  of  Diplomacy. 

around,  clasped  her  hands  about  her  knees  and 
looked  the  statesman  full  in  the  face. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  my  deceiving  you,  or, 
rather,  trying  to?  I  never  did  but  once,  and 
that  should  have  taught  me  a  lesson." 

"  The  lessons  of  youth  are  as  easily  forgotten 
as  learned ;  we  are  to  let  bygones  be  bygones,  are 
we  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes !  But  what  do  you  know  about 
Kenneth  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  Tell  me,  quick ! 
You  are  as  implacably  accurate  in  your  mind- 
reading  as  Sherlock  Holmes" 

If  the  statesman  was  gratified  by  her  agitation, 
he  did  not  look  triumphant.  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment, then  continued  the  conversation. 

"  For  years,  whenever  we  have  met,  if  it  were 
only  for  a  five-minute  chat,  you  have  never  failed 
to  mention  your  nephew,  his  schooling,  his  college 
days,  his  friends,  his  social  successes,  his  affec- 
tion for  you,  and  yours  for  him — words,  words, 
words ;  but  it  is  only  by  gathering  up  a  woman's 
words,  one  here,  another  there,  a  phrase  to-day 
2  17 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

and  its  sister  phrase  to-morrow,  that  you  at 
last  learn  the  real  woman — ex  pede  Herculem, 
you  know.  I  have  assumed  by  this  method 
of  reasoning  that  the  star  in  your  nephew's 
orbit  governs  your  House  of  Desire — isn't 
that  what  the  astrologers  say? — and  when  the 
controlling  interest  of  a  woman's  thought  is  fo- 
cussed  about  a  man  on  the  threshold  of  life,  it  is 
not  too  Napoleonic  to  assume  that  his  future  is  a 
matter  of  concern."  He  stirred  his  tea  slowly, 
and  tested  it. 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  did  not  interrupt.  It  did  not 
need  a  physiognomist  to  determine  that  she  was 
greatly  agitated ;  this  would  mean  much  to  those 
who  knew  her  poise. 

The  statesman  added  a  third  lump  of  sugar. 
"  Your  penchant  for  politics  is  well  known ;  it 
nearly  led  you  to  that  lie  at  the  end  of  two 
impossibilities — the  obey  of  the  marriage  service. 
If  you  had  been  a  man  you  would  have  been  a 
diplomat,  and  the  role  of  life  a  woman  misses 
on  account  of  sex  she  tries  to  impress  on  some 

18 


A  Matter  of  Diplomacy. 

plastic  material  of  the  masculine  order  intrusted 
to  her  influence. 

"  You  wrote  me  a  letter  asking  me  to  come  here 
for  a  quiet  visit.  As  it  happened,  it  found  me  at 
the  right  time,  when  I  needed,  and  could  take, 
an  outing.  You  stated  that  there  was  to  be  no 
one  but  yourself  and  husband,  possibly  your 
nephew.  The  '  possibly '  was  underlined,  and 
uncertainty  underlined  in  a  woman's  letter  means 
that  there  is  a  certainty  in  her  mind.  The  thirst 
for  information,  which  in  your  sex  is  termed 
curiosity,  has  been  another  impelling  motive — if 
another  were  needed — why  I  should  break  away 
from  my  established  rule  and  visit  you.  Next 
to  learning  an  entirely  unexpected  fact,  there  is 
nothing  more  gratifying  than  to  find  that  what 
we  have  assumed  from  slight  premises  is  correct. 
Your  nephew  is  to  be  here.  You  are  desirous 
for  us  to  meet  where  we  shall  be  uninterrupted 
by  the  world,  so  that  your  grace  and  charm — du- 
plicated in  him,  if  all  the  stories  I  hear  are  cor- 
rect— will  fascinate  me  to  the  point  of  yielding 
19 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

to  your  will  and  his.  You  want  me  to  place  his 
steps;  to  start  him  right;  to  guard  him  against 
failure  with  my  segis.  How  many  times  have 
you  told  me  that  you  loathe  the  commercial  life, 
that  you  believe  it  hardens,  contracts  and  repels; 
that  you  fear  the  artistic  role,  for  you  have  seen 
how  it  demoralizes  and  weakens,  since  its  rare 
prizes  are  won  by  yielding  rather  than  by  con- 
trol? The  physician,  you  say,  is  always  ma- 
terial, studying  the  physical,  and  living  it,  and 
the  legal  mind  stays  in  a  rut.  You  have  nar- 
rowed the  choice  of  profession — the  inference  is 
plain,  is  it  not?  You  do  not  contradict  me?  " 

"What  is  the  use?" 

"  Why  were  you  not  frank?  " 

"  I  never  am.  I  can't  be.  The  highest  forms 
of  life  are  the  most  complex,  you  know.  I  am 
classified  far  from  the  molecule  and  microbe, 
which  have  each  a  single  aim  and  a  single  way  of 
reaching  it.  It  is  natural  for  me  to  zigzag." 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  was  assuming  a  boldness  of 
demeanor  she  was  far  from  feeling. 
20 


A  Matter  of  Diplomacy. 

The  butler  approached,  placed  some  letters  on 
the  table,  flicked  a  few  crumbs  from  its  snowy 
cloth  and  withdrew  stealthily.  The  statesman's 
eyes  followed  him,  but  his  gaze  was  introspective, 
and  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  was  disturbed  by  it.  Had 
she  made  a  mistake  ?  As  he  said,  should  she  have 
been  more  frank  in  the  beginning?  Had  she  put 
him  on  his  guard  ?  She  waited  a  moment,  but  the 
statesman  was  still,  to  all  appearance,  counting 
the  distance  across  the  lawn  as  measured  by  the 
servant's  heels. 

"  A  woman  certainly  deserves  something  from 
the  man  she  has  refused.  Ingratitude,  in  such 
a  case,  would  be  too  base." 

The  statesman  smiled.     "  Tell  me  about  him." 

She  tried  to  think  quickly.  What  would  be  the 
most  convincing  point  she  could  make?  Never 
before  had  she  realized  how  the  years  that  had 
separated  their  lives  had  separated  their  knowl- 
edge of  each  other.  Much  might  depend  on  her 
phrases  of  explanation  or  eulogy.  What  kind  of 
a  man  was  his  ideal  for  a  pupil,  protege  or 

21 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

confrere?  A  man  like  himself,  a  weakling  or  a 
giant?  A  man  to  coerce  or  one  to  meet  on 
equal  terms?  A  man  who  would  be  a  slave  or  a 
friend?  She  looked  at  the  thin,  compressed  lips, 
at  the  cold,  gray  eyes,  at  the  long,  wavy  hair 
sprinkled  with  snow,  and  then,  shrinking  yet  a 
little  from  the  moment  of  battle,  she  placed  a 
conversational  button  on  the  foil. 

"  He  has  an  adorable  coloring ;  it  comes  and 
goes." 

The  statesman,  with  the  desire  to  give  her  time, 
had  occupied  himself  during  her  short  reverie  by 
taking  a  seal-covered  book  from  his  waistcoat 
pocket  and  elongating  the  pencil  on  his  chain. 

He  made  a  long  mark  on  the  open  page,  then 
said,  drily :  "  That  is  certainly  an  item  in  his 
favor — a  coloring  that  comes  and  goes." 

"  You  are  making  fun  of  me." 

"  Not  at  all ;  quite  the  contrary.     I  repeat,  it 
is  a  great  point;  if  he  had  a  coloring  that  simply 
stayed  he  might  stay  with  it,  and  a  man  should 
always  know  when  to  leave.     What  else  ?  " 
22 


A  Matter  of  Diplomacy. 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar,  still  uncertain,  continued  her 
fencing.  She  was  in  internal  hysterics  while  her 
pose  and  expression  were  as  tranquil  as  those  of 
a  worshiper  at  a  wayside  shrine. 

"  His  hair  is  lovely,  soft,  blond  and  curly." 

"  It  is  seldom,"  answered  the  statesman,  "  that 
curls  and  brains  come  to  the  same  man.  Yes,  I 
know,"  and  he  shook  his  leonine  mane,  "  I  have 
succeeded  in  spite  of  it." 

"  And  so  may  he." 

"  It  is  not  impossible ;  I  could  never  agree  that 
a  man  should  have  to  work  out  the  sins  of  his 
father " 

"  It  is  his  mother — to  her  waist." 

He  recalled  her  from  the  portrayal  of  domestic 
secrets.  "  Has  he  any  other  qualification  for  the 
station  of  life  to  which  it  pleases  you  to  call 
him?" 

He  believed  that  he  had  guarded  himself,  by 
a  perfect  forecast  of  the  situation,  from  any  sur- 
prise; but  his  hostess,  in  becoming  primitive, 
found  him  unprepared. 

23 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

She  rose  suddenly  from  her  wicker  chair  and 
stepped  across  the  space  that  separated  them. 
With  the  movement  her  scarlet  crepe  gown  tum- 
bled in  billowy  folds;  the  sunlight,  through  an 
over-hanging  branch,  fell  full  on  her  face,  still  as 
expressive  and  piquant  as  in  youth.  She  seated 
herself  on  the  garden  bench  at  his  side  and  took 
his  two  hands  in  hers.  There  were  tears  in  her 
eyes;  her  voice,  vibrant  as  a  tuned  string,  her 
greatest  charm,  was  trembling  like  that  of  one 
afflicted  with  stage-fright. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  was  not  frank ;  it  is  always  the 
best  way — with  you,  at  least.  I  did  ask  you  here 
for  that;  it  is  the  greatest,  the  only  wish  of  my 
soul.  I  must  have  it — I  must !  He  is  all  I  have, 
as  dear  to  me  as  if  he  were  my  own.  Every- 
thing in  my  life  has  disappointed — except  him. 
My  friendships,  my  marriage,  my  childlessness, 
my  ambitions — everything  ruined  by  youthful 
pride  and  its  attendant  mistakes!  Out  of  all 
these  ashes  his  future,  his  good,  have  risen  like 
the  phoenix  of  the  fable.  I  wish  to  guard  him  as 
24 


A  Matter  of  Diplomacy. 

I  was  not  guarded.  I  don't  wish  him  to  make  a 
mistake  through  the  blindness  of  those  about  him 
and  his  own  inexperience.  Now  is  the  time  that 
will  mean  all  to  him,  that  will  start  him  on  the 
path  from  which  there  is  no  return,  that  may  give 
him  that  which  is  the  greatest  good — the  work 
in  which  one  puts  one's  heart  and  soul.  Blessed, 
indeed,  is  the  man  or  woman  who  has  found  that. 
I  wish  you  to  help  me — it  is  the  first  step  that 
counts  so  much;  afterward  comes  the  force  of 
habit,  of  association,  the  deadening  weight  of  ac- 
quired routine.  Whatever  is  done  for  him  must 
be  done  at  once.  His  father  and  his  mother,  even 
my  husband,  insist  on  the  commercial  life  for  him, 
and  there  is  only  this  alternative,  for  he  has  not 
the  temperament  that  would  make  the  artistic  pos- 
sible after  he  has  recognized  his  possession  of 
mediocrity  and  its  limitations. 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  spoke 
through  separated  fingers,  the  hot  blood  rushing 
to  her  temples.  "  He  has  a  beautiful  body  and 
a  beautiful  soul.  If  he  had  lived  in  early  Greece, 

25 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

he  would  have  served  Praxiteles  for  another 
Apollo.  He  has  the  pride  that  has  kept  him  un- 
corrupted.  He  has  been  guarded  too  closely, 
perhaps,  but  it  is  a  lesser  evil  than  that  which 
points  the  way  and  helps  toward  it,  condoning 
excess  under  the  blatant  plea  that  a  man  of  the 
world  must  find  his  road  by  going  through  the 
mud  rather  than  around  it.  He  has  had  leisure, 
and  has  used  it  wisely,  for  he  inclines  toward 
culture.  His  heart  is  with  me  in  this.  He 
has  studied  and  thought  deeply.  He  is 
fallow  ground  for  the  sower.  Will  you  be 
that  sower?  Will  you  make  his  career? 
Don't  deny  me,  for  the  sake  of  auld  lang 
syne." 

The  statesman  was  silent.  He  was  watching 
some  blades  of  grass  swaying  gently  in  the  Sum- 
mer breeze. 

There  was  the  thud  of  horses'  hoofs  on  the 

highway   separated   from   them   by   a   towering 

hedge;    the    woman's    tones    emphasized    their 

rhythm,  and,  as  they  died  in  the  distance,  the  hyp- 

26 


A  Matter  of  Diplomacy. 

notic  power  of  receding  repetitions  calmed  her  ex- 
citement. 

"  You  will  forgive  me  for  disturbing  you  in 
this  shameless  way?  The  tears  of  a  worldly 
woman,  shed  for  someone  else,  should  convince 
a  man,  if  nothing  else  does,  that  she  is  in  earnest. 
I  have  only  the  claim  on  you  I  mention — of  old 
friendship,  one  that  has  lasted  through  many 
years,  that  commenced  when  we  were  children — 
and  we  are  now  middle-aged.  The  foolishness 
of  our  Midsummer  madness  left  in  you,  I.  am  sure, 
not  a  particle  of  resentment.  In  your  heart  you 
are  grateful  for  my  denial,  for  I  should  not  have 
helped  your  ongoing.  Do  for  me  what  I  would 
do  for  you  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  if  the 
positions  were  reversed." 

He  spoke  at  last. 

"  That  is  so  like  a  woman." 

"What?" 

"  To  assert  that  if  she  were  a  man  she  would 
do  something  that,  if  she  were  a  man,  she  could 
not  do,  simply  for  that  reason." 
27 


The  Fighting  Chance. 
"  You  do  not  mean  that  you  cannot- 


The  statesman  rose,  and  walked  back  and  forth. 

"  I  mean  that  if  you  had  asked  anything  else  of 
me  in  the  world  but  this,  my  word  would  have 
prevented  your  emotion.  I  would  do  anything  to 
make  your  life  happier,  anything  that  meant  sim- 
ply self-sacrifice;  but  this — this  is  beyond  my 
power  to  promise." 

"  Beyond  your  power ! "  There  were  scorn 
and  disbelief  in  the  voice. 

He  noted  and  ignored,  but  his  own  voice  vi- 
brated with  feeling.  "  There  is  but  one  thing  I 
have  ever  held,  could  ever  hold,  higher  than  the 
demands  of  self — the  honor  of  my  office.  Never 
have  I,  never  shall  I,  allow  prejudice,  hatred  or 
affection  to  intrude  into  my  mind  and  warp  judg- 
ment. I  have  disappointed  many  by  refusals,  but 
I  have  disappointed  myself  oftener.  The  nation 
is  a  monster,  and  we,  its  keepers,  feed  to  it  con- 
tinually our  rations  of  love,  friendship,  pity,  faith, 
and  charity,  but  it  only  cries  for  more.  No 
judge  on  the  bench  is  called  on  to  exercise 
28 


A  Matter  of  Diplomacy. 

more  impartial  decisions  than  we — the  govern- 
ment's police,  as  someone  has  called  us.  The 
enemies  I  have  made  would  prove,  if  proof  be 
needed,  that  what  I  say  to  you  is  the  truth.  I 
have  but  a  single  watchword  on  my  banner,  '  The 
Impersonal.' ' 

"  Then  it  is  hopeless  ?  I  have  dreamed, 
prayed,  humiliated  myself  for  nothing?" 

"  By  no  means.  My  presence  here,  under  the 
circumstances,  should  at  least  show  to  your  dis- 
cernment that  what  I  claim,  I  am — without  prej- 
udice in  this  matter,  as  in  everything  that  per- 
tains to  my  life  work.  There  is  opportunity, 
great  opportunity,  for  the  right  man.  We  want 
young  blood,  we  want  freshness ,  enthusiasm 
wisely  directed  and  not  too  impatient  of  control. 
If  all  you  say  of  your  nephew,  if  all  I  hear,  if 
half  of  it,  be  true,  he  is  better  equipped  than  most. 
I  can  at  least  promise  him " 

The  statesman  paused. 

"What?    Don't  keep  me  in  suspense." 

"A  fighting  chance,  my  dear  friend.     It  lies 
29 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

neither  with  you  nor  with  me,  but  with  him- 
self." 

They  were  facing  the  west,  where  the  after- 
noon sun  was  gradually  withdrawing  to  its  re- 
pose, leaving  behind  trailing  messages  of  promise 
and  regret.  The  light  breeze  played  about  them, 
and  the  statesman,  who  had  resumed  his  place, 
leaned  forward  and  wrapped  about  his  compan- 
ion's neck  the  long  ends  of  a  floating  scarf. 
There  was  finality  in  his  tone,  as  he  changed  the 
subject. 

"  You  said  that  you  expected  your  nephew  to- 
day ?  Did  I  not  so  understand  you  at  breakfast  ?  " 
He  turned,  meeting  no  response,  wondering  if 
she  had  not  heard,  or  if  she  were  endeavoring  to 
find  a  last  word  that  might  prove  convincing. 

Like  the  sunset  sky,  her  face  was  transfigured 
by  varying  emotions.  She  was  changed  from 
a  worldly,  normal  creature  into  something  of 
beauty,  enthusiasm  and  hope.  Her  breath  came 
in  gasps  and  her  eyes  shone  like  stars.  Her 
voice,  which  in  her  commonplace  moods  thrilled 
30 


across  the  velvet  sward,  Kenneth  Bigelou'  approached.'' 


A  Matter  of  Diplomacy. 

like  the  plaint  of  a  harp,  uttered  the  monosylla- 
bles, "  He  has  come !  my  boy !  my  boy !  "  She 
had  not  exaggerated  the  power  of  her  affection. 
One  could  read  in  her  ejaculation  the  love  that 
passes  measure;  the  kind  that  is  rarely  met,  per- 
haps never,  except  when  it  is  combined  with  the 
maternal. 

They  moved  slightly  so  as  to  front  the  porch 
and  lawn.  The  tenseness  of  her  mood  communi- 
cated itself  to  the  statesman.  Not  a  gesture  or 
expression  of  the  youth  who  approached  them 
was  lost  to  his  quickened  sensibility.  In  after 
years,  by  closing  his  eyes  the  whole  scene  would 
return,  as  only  those  mental  pictures  come  that 
by  force  of  some  exceptional  circumstance  are  in- 
delibly printed  on  the  sensitized  film  of  memory. 

Down  the  steps  of  the  veranda,  across  the  vel- 
vet sward,  Kenneth  Bigelow  approached.  He 
was  tall,  supple,  graceful,  his  broad  shoulders 
and  well-knit  muscles  counteracting  an  impression 
of  delicacy,  shown  by  the  quick  blood  that  an- 
swered his  mood  as  the  word  the  thought,  and 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

under  his  eyes  by  the  network  of  veins  that  in 
moments  of  excitement  were  blue  as  the  eyes 
themselves.  The  statesman  thought  at  that  mo- 
ment— an  opinion  from  which  he  never  swerved 
— that  this  was  the  most  perfect  type  of  physical 
manhood  he  had  ever  seen.  It  was  as  if  inter- 
vening generations  had  been  swept  aside  and  the 
Greek  type,  relieved  from  a  too  perfect  classicism 
by  some  powerful  strain,  had  been  revived  in 
this  twentieth-century  product. 

The  time  was  a  crucial  one;  Kenneth  knew  it, 
yet  the  hand  that  met  the  statesman's,  after  his 
embrace  of  his  aunt,  was  as  cool  as  the  statesman's 
own,  firm  in  pressure  and  sensitive  to  the  touch. 
He  answered  commonplaces  with  commonplaces, 
and,  after  waiting  courteously  for  his  elders  to 
reseat  themselves,  threw  himself  on  the  bench 
between  them,  his  every  gesture  revealing  an 
inner  grace  of  which  the  act  was  but  a  symbol. 
His  clothes  seemed  a  part  of  himself;  they  and 
his  manner  were  so  perfect  that  no  one  ever 
thought  of  them.  He  had  a  power  of  reserve 
32 


A  Matter  of  Diplomacy. 

that  impressed  immediately,  yet  his  wit  was  keen 
and  he  allowed  himself  few  slip-shod  methods  of 
expression.  Mrs.  de  la  Mar,  in  stating  that  pride 
had  kept  his  soul  uncorrupted,  showed  an  analysis 
unusual  with  her.  The  moral  standpoint  was 
neither  inherited  nor  acquired;  it  was  rather  a 
spontaneous  expression,  the  ethics  of  a  god  who 
is  repelled  by  the  immoral  as  something  imperfect 
and  futile. 

"  What  do  you  think  the  most  necessary  quali- 
fication for  a  diplomat  ?  "  asked  the  statesman. 

"  Perfect  truthfulness,"  answered  Kenneth,  un- 
hesitatingly ;  and  added,  smilingly,  "  He  would  be 
twice  panoplied,  for  he  would  never  be  believed." 

It  was  after  this,  said  half  in  jest,  that  they 
separated,  the  statesman  excusing  himself  from 
accompanying  them  to  the  house  on  the  plea  of 
his  need  of  a  solitary  cigar. 

He  watched  the  two  go  arm  in  arm  across  the 

stretch  of  lawn,  his  eyes  resting  with  a  peculiar 

expression  on  Kenneth  Bigelow.    Beauty,  youth, 

grace,  the  power  to  attract  woman  and  to  hold 

3  33 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

men ;  greatest  of  all,  apparently,  strength  to  resist 
the  insidious  poison  of  flattery!  A  fighting 
chance?  He  had  all  the  weapons  in  Nature's 
armory.  Who  could  disarm  such  an  equipment? 
Then  he  shook  his  head  with  the  gesture  of  the 
sadly  wise.  "  It  is  a  perfection  that  appalls." 

When  the  corner  of  the  house  hid  them  from 
view,  he  reseated  himself  on  the  garden  bench, 
felt  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat  and  took  out  a  long 
black  case  filled  with  papers.  From  this  he  drew 
a  personal  letter  from  a  man  who  out- 
ranked him ;  of  whom  there  were  not  many.  He 
re-read  it  carefully,  then  folded  and  replaced  it, 
and  returned  the  case  to  his  pocket.  He  sat  for 
a  long  time,  perfectly  motionless;  finally  he  said 
aloud,  softly,  as  was  his  habit  when  alone : 

"  Strange  that  it  should  come  at  this  time !  If 
I  accept  the  post,  I  must  have  somebody,  some- 
body with  brains  and  savoir-faire,  a  close  tongue 
and  unswerving  loyalty.  The  fighting  chance — 
it  doesn't  usually  come  with  so  little  effort.  I 
wonder  if  he  is  to  be  the  exception  to  the  rule?  " 
34 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  HEART  OF  AN  INGENUE. 

THE  ingenue  is  popularly  supposed  to  be  like 
the  earth  in  its  initial  stages  while  chaos  reigned. 
The  ingenue  in  question  could  not  be  so  classified ; 
she  had  perfect  lines  and  curves,  and  no  one  had 
ever  accused  her  of  inanity;  to  be  without  form 
and  void  might  apply  to  others  of  her  kind,  not  to 
her;  she  was  a  notable  exception.  She  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor  giving  directions  in  clear 
and  concise  terms  to  a  maid,  who  obeyed  her  with 
a  celerity  that  suggested  fear  rather  than  moral 
standpoints  in  regard  to  duty. 

"  In  that  tray  ?    No,  in  the  upper  drawer.     I 

think  if  you  sit  on  it,  it  may  close.     Yes,  mamma, 

in  a  minute ;  please  don't  interrupt.     Where  am  I 

going?    Do  you  know  this  is  the  twentieth  time 

35 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

you  have  asked  that  question?  What  does  it 
matter  where  I  go?  The  going  is  the  principal 
thing  at  present.  How  long?  How  can  I  tell ?  It 
will  depend  on  whether  she  will  have  me  or  not. 
No,  Jane;  haven't  I  told  you  a  dozen  times,  the 
blue — blue — blue?  What  a  fool  you  are,  Jane! 
She?  Why,  Mrs.  de  la  Mar;  whom  should  I 
mean?  Oh,  mamma,  you  and  Jane  together  are 
enough  to  drive  one  to  matrimony. 

"  She  expressly  said  that  she  didn't  want  me 
this  week!  I  understand  that  perfectly.  No, 
Jane;  Balzac,  B-a-1-z-a-c — you  know  I  never  go 
away  without  my  Balzac.  Yes,  the  rice  powder. 
You'll  be  asking  me  next  if  I  am  going  to  take 
stockings.  Oh,  you  need  not  bother  to  get  out 
her  letter  again,  I  have  read  it  a  dozen  times  al- 
ready. Oh,  well,  just  as  you  please,  though  I 
tell  you  I  know  it  by  heart.  '  My  dear  Grace — So 
sorry  that  I  must  ask  you  to  delay  for  a  few  days 
the  visit  of  your  charming  daughter — I  assume, 
of  course,  she  is  charming,  although  I  have  never 
seen  her.'  Wouldn't  that  make  a  healthy  young 
36 


The  Heart  of  an  Ingenue. 

woman  ill?  Why  do  women  get  gross  in  their 
flatteries  as  they  do  in  their  appearance  after 
forty,  I  wonder  ?  '  I  expect  my  old  friend,  the 
Honorable  Claridge  Robertson  for  a  few  days, 
and  my  nephew  is  to  meet  him  here.  Unfortu- 
nately for  me,  both  visits  are  to  be  fleeting,  so 
at  the  end  of  next  week  I  shall  expect  to  see 
Blanche — so  sorry  that  I  must  wait,  but  you  un- 
derstand. I  shall  have  some  young  people  here 
to  meet  her,  and  get  up  some  hops  and  picnics 
with  the  town  people  to  help.  Let  me  know  the 
train  so  that  I  may  send  the  carriage  for  her. 
She  may  bring  her  own  maid,  if  she  likes ;  if  not, 
I  can  supply  her  with  one  who  is  thoroughly  com- 
petent.' 

"  Yes,  I  know  the  kind  of  maid  a  woman  lends 
you — tears  your  hair  out  by  the  roots  and  polishes 
your  nails  until  they  look  like  starched  collars. 

"  So  I  am  to  be  cheated  out  of  meeting  the 

Honorable  Claridge  Robertson,  am  I?    A  few 

young  fools  to  meet  me — and  town  people.     How 

I  hate  the  town  people  a  woman  with  a  country 

37 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

house  brings  about  you!  Of  all  the  impossible, 
frumpy  fillers-in — look  at  you  as  a  mouse  looks 
at  a  cat,  and  absorb  your  ideas  as  a  beggar  ab- 
sorbs a  Christmas  feed — yes,  mamma,  I  said 
'feed'  didn't  you  hear  me? 

"  Old  enough  to  be  my  father,  is  he?  Now,  if 
that  isn't  just  like  you,  mamma!  If  I  get  at  all 
interested  in  a  man,  you  are  sure  to  say  that  he's 
old  enough  to  be  my  father.  I  should  think  you 
would  know  by  this  time  that  a  man  isn't  good 
for  anything  until  he  is  old  enough  to  be  my 
father.  Of  course,  I  haven't  ever  seen  him — but 
that  is  immaterial.  Haven't  I  sat  in  the  corner  of 
drawing-rooms  for  years,  hearing  women  tell  how 
they've  tried  to  catch  him,  while  I  looked  de- 
murely at  photographs — oh,  those  ghastly  photo- 
graphs, which  are  supposed  to  be  mental  food 
sufficient  for  the  debutante ! — the  last  were  ca-  • 
thedral  towns  of  Europe.  A  hostess  who . 
could  think  of  that  novel  form  of  entertainment 
is  really  wasted  in  a  small  place  like  this.  I've  al- 
ways made  up  my  mind  that  if  I  ever  got  the  op- 

38 


The  Heart  of  an  Ing6nue. 

portunity  I'd  show  those  women  where  they  made 
their  mistakes.  Funny  what  fools  women  will 
make  of  themselves  over  a  man  who  is  in  the  pub- 
lic eye,  no  matter  what  he  looks  like  or  what  he 
really  is.  Oh,  of  course,  mamma,  I  sha'n't  let 
anybody  hear  me  talk  this  way — why  do  you  al- 
ways say  that?  I  must  be  myself  somewhere;  I 
have  to  be  young  and  innocent  and  green  outside ; 
it's  a  pity  if  I  can't  let  the  bars  down  when  I'm 
with  you  and  Jane ! 

"  What  was  it  that  the  soldier  at  the  citadel  in 
Halifax  told  us — that  he  wanted  to  go  to  South 
Africa  so  as  to  have  a  fighting  chance  for  his 
medal?  Well,  this  is  my  fighting  chance  to  get 
away  from  my  role  of  debutante,  and  I'm  going 
to  take  it.  If  it  were  not  for  one  thing — only  one 
— I  should  order  my  wedding  cards  before  I  start. 

"  Yes,  Jane,  of  course  you  are  going  with  me. 
If  the  Honorable  Robertson  has  a  valet — well, 
you  ought  to  know  by  this  time  how  useful  a  valet 
can  be.  Mrs.  Claridge  Robertson !  Yes,  mamma, 
Mrs.  Claridge  Robertson !  How  does  that  sound  ? 
39 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

I  can  see  myself  trailing  into  a  room  behind  that 
name,  and  hearing  everyone  whisper.  "Isn't  she 
young?  What  a  child  to  be  the  wife  of  Claridge 
Robertson ! ' " 

The  ingenue  sat  on  the  floor  and  fanned  herself, 
while  her  mother  looked  at  her  helplessly.  For 
two  years  now  this  had  been  Mrs.  Adrian's  atti- 
tude. When  her  daughter  was  fourteen  she  had 
been  sent  abroad  to  acquire  languages,  finish  and 
the  possible  advantages  of  travel,  with  a  maiden 
aunt  whose  sole  duty  had  apparently  been  to  avoid 
any  responsibilities  that  might  devolve  upon  her 
brevet  rank.  What  passed  in  those  four  years 
Mrs.  Adrian  never  knew.  The  result  she  saw 
only  too  well.  Someone  said  of  Blanche  Adrian, 
in  an  after  time,  that  she  had  the  face  of  an  angel 
and  the  soul  of  a  demi-mondaine,  and  that  descrip- 
tion will  do  as  well  as  any  other.  Not  every  man 
to-day  believes  that  big  blue  eyes,  a  lineless  face 
and  conversations  whose  double  entendres  are  to 
all  seeming  unconscious  blunders  denote  one  un- 
spotted by  the  world ;  but  there  are  still  many  con- 
40 


The  Heart  of  an  Ingenue. 

servative  enough  to  cherish  the  creed  of  their 
forefathers.  This  belief  has  changed  many  a 
cynic  into  a  fool — a  statement  that  Blanche 
Adrian  had  proved  more  times  than  would  be 
credited.  Her  memory,  assisted  by  the  leaves  of 
a  small  red-covered  book,  kept  record  of  the  exact 
number.  The  years  since  her  return  from  the 
Continent  held  a  series  of  love  affairs,  from 
the  entanglements  of  which  she  had  wormed  her- 
self at  the  edge  of  disaster  by  the  wiles  of  a 
worldling  concealed  beneath  the  mask  of  a  child. 
Mrs.  Adrian's  life,  meanwhile,  had  been  one  of 
chattering  teeth,  nightmares  and  agues  of  fear. 
Every  morning  she  awoke  with  the  sense  of 
impending  danger;  every  night  she  retired 
welcoming  her  only  refuge  from  presenti- 
ments of  disaster  that  never  materialized  into  fact, 
but  of  which  she  suffered  all  the  horrors  in  antici- 
pation. 

Whatever  Blanche's  faults  might  be — and  they 
passed  the  power  of  the  ordinary  chronicler — she 
never  bored  by  repetition.  She  passed  from  adven- 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

ture  to  adventure  with  the  reckless  abandon  of  a 
child,  and  withdrew  from  consequences  with  the 
skill  of  a  Machiavelli.  Nature  in  her  gave  the 
lie  to  the  statement  that  the  soul  and  body  are 
twin-like,  the  beauty  of  the  one  a  type  of  its  coun- 
terpart ;  her  soul  had  matured  early  with  the  fatal 
celerity  of  one  to  pleasure  born;  her  body  re- 
mained poised  at  that  indefinite  boundary  which 
the  poet  has  described  as  the  place  where  brook 
and  river  meet.  The  complexities  of  this  double 
personality  gave  her  opportunities  for  more  than 
the  ordinary  wiles  of  femininity.  She  was  a  born 
intrigante;  in  a  different  stratum  she  would  have 
spied  for  a  secret  society,  hobnobbed  with  coun- 
terfeiters, and  turned  state's  evidence  to  escape 
the  unpleasantness  of  striped  clothes  and  barred 
windows.  Finalities  wearied  her.  It  was  only 
in  the  eternal  struggle,  the  excitement  of  the 
game,  the  disentanglement  of  crossed  threads  that 
her  fevered  life  responded  to  the  power  of  stim- 
ulants. She  would  have  stood  forever  at  the  fork 
of  a  trail,  lost  in  the  pleasurable  anticipation  of 
42 


The  Heart  of  an  Inge'nue. 

its  uncertainties,  enjoying  to  the  utmost  the  sen- 
suous enjoyment  of  the  hunter's  life;  but  as  soon 
as  she  was  forced  to  a  choice  of  paths,  fatigue 
would  overtake  her,  and  the  glory  of  the  day 
would  be  lost  in  the  cloud  of  the  already  known. 
In  her  world — a  small  one,  it  is  true — she  made 
a  distinct  figure.  To  do  this  in  an  arena  where 
competition  is  the  oxygen,  talent  the  hydrogen, 
and  mediocrity  alone  a  negligible  quantity  is  no 
mean  achievement.  One's  individuality  must  be 
emphasized,  and  the  adoption  of  a  role  must  have 
no  visible  flaw.  She  was  rarely  forgotten. 
Against  an  accumulation  of  similar  types  her  own 
stood  out  with  the  relief  of  a  statue  against  a 
background  of  canvases.  Women  regarded  her 
as  safe,  and  made  friends;  men  turned  to  her, 
wearied  by  studied  poses,  cynical  epigrams  and 
the  atmosphere  of  intrigue,  and  sought  refresh- 
ment from  one  whose  concealment  of  art  gave 
that  art  its  certificate  of  perfection.  While  she 
attracted  by  her  simplicity,  she  held  by  a  certain 
mystery,  an  allurement  of  promise.  To  each  man 
43 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

she  was  the  untaught,  waiting  his  guiding  hand. 
She  made  no  public  display  of  these  guiding  hands, 
as  a  weaker  or  vainer  woman  might  have  done. 
Ostracism,  immediate  and  final,  was  the  punish- 
ment of  the  man  who  dared  impugn  the  veracity 
of  her  public  attitude  by  too  great  a  fervor  in  his 
attentions.  In  private  she  promised  much  and 
often.  But  at  home  she  ruled  her  widowed 
mother  with  the  unflinching  power  of  the  strong 
over  the  weak,  and  to  avoid  the  payment  of  those 
promissory  notes  of  affection,  scattered  here  and 
there,  she  declared  her  to  be  a  miracle  of 
ferocity  in  league  with  a  brutal  guardian;  and  by 
this  means  she  released  herself  from  obligations 
when  they  became  too  pressing. 

To  her,  marriage  held  the  horror  that  it  often 
inspires  in  the  woman  whose  freedom  has  passed 
beyond  the  bounds  of  conventionality.  Only  the 
reward  of  a  cyclone  of  feeling  or  the  compensa- 
tion of  social  prestige  could  ever  make  its  irk- 
someness  possible.  It  was  a  problem  with  her 
which  was  more  desirable,  the  ability  to  stand 
44 


The  Heart  of  an  Ingenue. 

where  her  position  would  be  so  secure  that  she 
could  afford  to  throw  off  the  mask  and  be  herself, 
or  to  lose  herself  in  a  torrent  of  sentiment,  where 
everything  would  be  overthrown  except  the  su- 
preme delight  of  loving  and  of  being  loved — an 
experience  which  her  self -absorption  had  allowed 
her  only  in  the  subdued  passions  of  reverie. 

While  marriage  meant  to  her  a  necessity,  or  at 
least  a  means  to  an  end,  to  Mrs.  Adrian  such  a 
disposal  of  her  daughter  would  come  as  the  joy 
that  the  slave  shackled  to  another  feels  when  the 
chains  of  his  companion  are  broken,  and  in  the 
withdrawal  of  his  enforced  mate  he  finds  his  own 
release.  She  asked  for  no  heaven  as  the  meed  of 
her  efforts ;  the  day  that  she  witnessed  her  daugh- 
ter's legal  obligation  would  compensate  her  even 
for  the  loss  of  an  eternal  inheritance.  Neither  so- 
cial position,  wealth,  an  incorruptible  past  nor  a 
promising  future  was  a  necessary  attribute  for  a 
son-in-law  from  her  viewpoint.  Any  one  masculine 
who  would  assume  the  responsibility  of  Blanche's 
future  would  be  welcomed  if  her  natural  feelings 
45 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

were  allowed  sway — it  is  needless  to  remark  that 
they  never  were.  Longing  to  cry  out  in  grati- 
tude to  successive  men  who  offered  themselves 
for  her  approval,  as  one  drowning  welcomes  a 
deliverer,  careless  of  genealogical  correctness,  she 
was  obliged  to  refuse  on  one  excuse  and  another, 
and  to  meet  requests,  rebukes  and  threats  with 
unmoved  negations  while  her  heart  was  pleading 
their  cause  more  eloquently  than  they  could  plead 
it  themselves. 

The  dissonance  of  her  daily  relations  caused 
the  delay  of  harmony  for  which  she  longed  with 
the  tired  soul  of  the  middle-aged.  That  she  saw 
no  end  to  her  perplexities  did  not  produce  hope- 
lessness. She  had  rare  recuperative  power,  and 
in  every  new  man  believed  she  saw  a  possible 
savior.  At  the  mention  of  Claridge  Robertson 
her  heart  bounded  as  the  pulse  of  the  maiden 
throbs  at  the  mention  of  a  secret  adorer.  She 
tried  to  rob  her  tone  of  some  of  its  excess  of  hope. 

"  If  you  really  mean  that  you  want  to  marry 
Claridge  Robertson,  I  will  help  you  in  any  way 
46 


The  Heart  of  an  Ingenue. 

I  can.  I  should  not  object  to  him  as  a  son-in- 
law." 

The  ingenue  chuckled  in  a  peculiarly  exasperat- 
ing way.  "  Now,  mamma,  that  is  truly  maternal. 
You  would  not  object  to  the  Honorable  as  a  son- 
in-law — a  man  that  every  woman  in  society  has 
tried  to  snare  some  time  or  other.  You  would 
not  object!  Your  submission  under  such  an  im- 
pending calamity  does  you  infinite  credit.  There 
is  really  nothing  a  mother  would  not  do  for  her 
child — the  pelican  in  the  wilderness  is  your  fitting 
symbol." 

She  continued  her  directions  to  the  maid. 
"  Yes,  Jane,  I  intend  to  travel  in  that  white  mus- 
lin gown — the  dotted  one  with  the  Valenciennes; 
yes,  the  white  straw  hat  with  the  big  white  rose 
at  the  side;  white  gloves,  of  course,  and,  yes,  the 
white  canvas  shoes — did  you  pipeclay  them  as  I 
told  you?  Now,  mamma,  I  know  that  people 
don't  usually  take  long  railroad  journeys  in  white 
muslin  gowns,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
not,  is  it  ?  It  will  be  all  soiled  ?  I  don't  think  so. 
47 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

I  intend  to  take  a  raglan,  an  old  hat,  gloves  and 
shoes  in  a  box,  and  change  on  the  way  there. 
.Where  will  I  change  ?  Oh,  mamma,  your  curiosity 
in  regard  to  details  is  overpowering.  I  shall  write 
you  all  about  it.  Now,  here  is  a  slip  of 
paper,  and  before  I  forget  it  I  want  you  to  dia- 
gram exactly  the  location  of  the  rose  garden.  The 
train  gets  in  at  half-after  four;  you  say  it  will 
take  about  an  hour  to  drive  to  the  house.  If 
I  should  leave  the  carriage  somewhere,  is  there 
a  path  by  which  I  could  get  into  the  rose  garden  ? 
I  should  judge  that  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  and  her  two 
guests  would  sit  there  at  that  time  of  day,  and  I 
could  make  a  most  effective  entrance  with  my 
muslin  gown,  white  gloves,  shoes  and  hat.  Will 
I  have  the  sun  at  my  back  ?  That  is  good.  I  might 
have  to  squint  otherwise,  which  would  spoil  the 
timid  expression  with  which  I  shall  greet  Mrs. 
de  la  Mar's  surprise,  and  explain  that  the  letter 
delaying  my  visit  did  not  arrive.  I  shall  be  sim- 
ply overwhelmed  with  remorse  and  confusion. 
I  shall  offer  to  return  home ;  even  the  submission 
48 


The  Heart  of  an  Ingenue. 

you  displayed  a  little  while  ago,  at  the  idea  of  the 
Honorable  Claridge  Robertson  becoming  a  mem- 
ber of  our  exclusive  home  circle,  will  be  as  a 
shadow  to  its  substance  in  comparison  with  the 
quality  I  intend  to  exhibit  on  that  occasion. 

"  What  other  guest  ?  Why,  don't  you  remem- 
ber she  spoke  in  her  letter  of  her  nephew?  Is  it 
possible  that  I  have  failed  to  impress  on  you  that 
it  is  the  nephew  who  alone  stands  between  me 
and  the  pride  of  being  Mrs.  Robertson?  No? 
I  have  been  remiss.  You  must  have  heard  of  him. 
Why,  they  say  women  simply  leap  over  one  an- 
other to  get  near  him — that  Paderewski  is  a 
leper  in  comparison;  that  he  is  the  handsomest 
man  on  this  side  of  the  continent.  It  is  the 
nephew  I  am  afraid  of  as  a  bar  to  satisfied  ambi- 
tion. I  am  morally  certain  that  I  shall  fall  in 
love  with  him ;  in  fact,  I  intend  to.  I  have  never 
been  in  love,  and  when  one  makes  a  fool  of  one's 
self  one  should  do  it  in  good  company. 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  by  your  face,  mamma,  that  the 
stock  of  the  Honorable  Claridge  Robertson  is  fall- 
4  49 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

ing.  Don't  despair!  It  is  merely  a  struggle  be- 
tween ambition  and  love.  I  may  return  as  the 
prospective  bride  of  the  greatest  statesman  of 
the  age  or  as  that  of  the  handsomest  man — a 
poor  thing,  but  my  own.  You  may  rest  assured 
of  one  thing,  however,  and  may  the  knowledge 
bring  peace  to  your  restless  heart!  I  shall  cer- 
tainly accept  one  or  the  other.  It  has  got  to 
come  some  time,  and  I  shall  never  have  a  better 
chance  to  choose  between  the  two  great  forces  of 
life.  As  sure  as  one  can  be  of  anything  in  this 
world,  I  am  positive  that  your  patience  is  to  have 
its  reward.  Whoever  it  may  be,  his  loss  will  be 
your  gain.  Nature  is  a  great  adjuster,  isn't 
she?  " 

The  maid  was  arranging  the  going-away 
gown  on  the  bed,  picking  out  the  ruffles, 
pulling  the  lacy  frills  and  smoothing  a  tiny 
wrinkle  here  and  there.  The  ingenue  turned 
and  watched  her  for  a  moment;  then,  in  un- 
changed tones,  said,  slowly :  "  Those  little 
white  dresses  that  I  always  wear  remind  me  of 
50 


The  Heart  of  an  Ingenue. 

my  soul — they  are  so  different.  Yesterday  this 
gown  was  spotted  and  stained  and  worn;  now 
see,  it  is  fresh  as  a  flower  in  the  morning;  but 
my  poor  soul,  that  used  to  be  like  this,  it  is  old 
and  worn  and  stained,  and  there  is  no  way  of 
renovating  it,  no  way  of  bringing  it  back  to  its 
freshness  and  its  beauty  and  its  youth." 

A  great  revulsion  of  feeling  swept  over  Mrs. 
Adrian,  but  she  did  not  dare  show  it  by  any  out- 
ward sign.  In  this  scene  was  the  epitome  of  their 
relations,  the  tension  of  the  artificial,  the  fear  and 
revolts,  the  contentions  and  disappointments.  As 
in  a  magic-lantern  show  the  unexpected  picture 
sometimes  obtrudes,  so,  occasionally,  she  would 
see  for  a  moment  in  her  child  all  the  revolt  against 
an  inheritance  of  corruption,  the  wish  without  the 
power  to  bring  its  health  to  maturity,  the  weari- 
ness of  one  who  has  had  no  childhood  and  no 
illusions,  the  presentiments  of  years  of  satiety  al- 
ready begun.  She  was  suffering  from  the  disease 
of  her  time — precocity  and  its  deadening  reac- 
tions, and  helpless  as  one  at  a  death-bed,  her 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

mother  watched  these  recurrent  struggles,  suf- 
fered with  her,  for  her  and  by  her,  continually, 
losing  her  own  mental  and  physical  well-being, 
as  blossoms  fade  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  cank- 
ered lily. 

It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon  in  the  garden. 
The  roses  bloomed  there  as  if  Summer  were  eter- 
nal and  Winter  but  the  dream  of  a  decadent  soul. 
Through  the  heated  air  were  delicious  currents 
of  freshness,  as,  swimming  in  tepid  water,  the 
limbs  are  touched  now  and  then  by  an  invigor- 
ating wave.  In  the  hedge  an  amorous  bird 
practised  a  nocturne,  and  a  locust  with  orches- 
tral ambitions  was  tuning  the  strings  of  his 
violin. 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar,  the  statesman  and  the  nephew 
chatted  languidly.  The  morning  had  been  spent 
on  the  links,  and  now,  toward  twilight,  they  had 
met  and  resumed  their  talk  of  the  day  before. 
It  was  apparent  that  the  statesman  was  weigh- 
ing his  companion's  possibilities,  that  he  was  will- 
52 


The  Heart  of  an  Ingenue. 

ing  to  be  prevailed  on,  and  opposed  only  the  natu- 
ral barriers;  but  that  the  young  man  must  prove 
himself  convincing  was  evident.  It  was  not 
enough  to  be  well  informed,  to  be  ready,  to  have 
his  principles  and  information  based  solidly ;  there 
were  many  others  who  could  boast  this  equip- 
ment— a  long  waiting  list  at  the  statesman's  beck 
and  call,  well  armed  with  credentials,  with  their 
hands  on  the  levers  of  power.  It  was  the  quality 
of  convincingness  that  must  be  displayed.  And 
now,  when  the  two  men  had  been  brought  to- 
gether, some  second  must  be  seized,  freighted 
with  opportunity,  and  its  burden  utilized;  some 
test  might  perhaps  arise  that  would  change  the 
lukewarmness  of  the  statesman's  attitude  into  the 
decision  of  a  final  choice.  Thus  far  such  oppor- 
tunity had  not  come,  and  no  test  had  offered  its 
aid.  That  the  young  man  had  lost  nothing  was 
silently  conceded ;  that  he  had  yet  to  gain  was  no 
less  apparent.  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  was  tactful  with 
her  entrances  and  exits;  she  did  not  allow  them 
to  become  wearied  by  each  other,  neither  did  she 

53 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

obtrude  when  the  presence  of  a  third  might  be 
distracting. 

"  Generally  speaking,"  said  the  statesman,  "  I 
believe  the  celibate  to  be  the  ideal  statesman; 
certainly  celibacy  is  almost  a  necessity  in  the  case 
of  a  young  man — marriage  at  forty,  I  should  say, 
not  before.  This  freedom  not  only  gives  him 
time  to  ground  his  foundations  properly,  but  it 
also  gives  him  an  opportunity  to  utilize  to  the  ut- 
most the  feminine  influence  that  to-day,  more 
than  at  any  other  time  of  our  world's  history, 
owing  to  the  greater  attraction  between  the  sexes 
as  the  result  of  our  strained  nerves,  is  such  a 
factor  in  matters  political.  A  married  man  can- 
not use  the  weapon  effectively.  He  has  his  home 
ties,  and  he  cannot  afford  to  jeopardize  his  posi- 
tion by  entanglements  which,  perhaps  innocent  in 
themselves,  have  the  appearance  of  intrigue.  A 
free  man  can  make  use  of  every  social  opportunity 
to  his  desired  end,  and  social  opportunities  are  the 
greatest  of  all  in  the  game  of  statecraft." 

There  was  a  slight  rustle  of  foliage,  and  in  the 
54 


The  Heart  of  an  Ingenue. 

pathway  that  wound  circuitously  from  the  high 
road,  through  arcades  of  splendor  where  roses, 
white,  crimson  and  gold,  rioted  in  mad  confusion, 
a  vision  of  beauty  appeared.  The  vision  resolved 
itself  into  a  slim  young  person,  in  spotless  white, 
with  a  big  picture  hat,  the  left  side  upheld  by  a 
flower.  In  one  hand  she  held  a  red  rose  she  had 
picked  on  the  way,  in  the  other  her  fluffy  skirts. 
The  flush  on  her  cheeks,  the  golden  hair  that 
caught  the  sunlight,  were  no  less  entrancing  than 
the  look  half  of  astonishment,  half  of  dismay, 
which  was  apparent  to  the  trio,  as  she  crossed  the 
intervening  space. 

"  Who  can  she  be  ?  "  murmured  Mrs,  de  la 
Mar.  "  I  certainly  have  never  seen  her  before." 

The  three  rose^as  she  reached  them  and  stopped 
falteringly.  She  looked  beseechingly  at  Mrs.  de 
la  Mar,  as  a  child  might  who  has  a  favor  in  mind 
and  is  trying  to  voice  its  importance. 

"  You  don't  know  me  ?  I  thought  perhaps  you 
would  think  I  looked  like  mamma;  so  many  do. 
I  am  Blanche  Adrian.  You  know  I  was  to  come 
55 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

to-day.  I  suppose  you  forgot,  you  have  so  many 
others,  and " 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  was  trying  to  think  of  some- 
thing to  say  that  would  meet  this  unexpected  sit- 
uation. 

"  I  sent  Jane,  my  maid,  around  by  the  regular 
road,  but  the  man  who  drove  us  said  I  might  find 
my  way  through  the  woods,  and  it  was  so  beauti- 
ful !  Your  roses  must  be  like  those  of  the  Garden 
of  Eden,  I  think.  I  picked  one;  do  you  mind?  " 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  had  recovered  from  her  sur- 
prise. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  I 
did  not  get  any  letter  from  you  about  the  trains, 
and  I  presume  mine  did  not  reach  you  ?  " 

"Letters?  I  think,"  explained  the  ingenue, 
"  that  we  have  the  most  unsatisfactory  postal  sys- 
tem in  the  world.  You  see,  we  are  very  primi- 
tive, and  the  postmistress  has  to  read  all  the  mail 
before  it  is  distributed.  Sometimes  the  children 
get  sick — she  has  seven — and  then  we  don't  get 
our  letters  for  a  week  or  two." 

56 


The  Heart  of  an  Ingenue. 

"  You  are  just  as  welcome,"  said  Mrs.  de  la 
Mar ;  "  I  should  have  liked  to  have  sent  the  car- 
riage. Would  you  care  to  go  to  your  room,  my 
dear?" 

"  I  am  tired,  but  not  that  kind  of  tired.  If  I 
can  sit  here  for  a  few  minutes  and  watch  the  sun- 
set and  the  flowers,  and  hear  you  talk " 

Introductions  were  performed. 

The  statesman  and  Kenneth  Bigelow  made 
simultaneous  movements  of  offering  chairs,  while 
Mrs.  de  la  Mar  resumed  her  own,  wondering  at 
the  spotlessness  of  the  ingenue's  manner  and 
clothes. 

The  ingenue  looked  first  at  the  statesman,  then 
at  the  nephew;  in  each  countenance  she  read  in- 
vitation and  hope.  There  were  some  scarlet 
cushions  between  the  two.  She  paused  a  mo- 
ment, then  sank  gracefully  on  them,  smiling  a  re- 
fusal at  each  man  in  turn. 

The  two  men  resumed  their  places,  the  states- 
man at  her  right  and  Kenneth  Bigelow  at  her 
left. 

57 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  PRIVATE  SECRETARY. 

"  A  LADY  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  Show  her  in." 

The  secretary  turned  wearily.  The  desk  was 
piled  with  a  mass  of  documents  and  letters,  and 
his  mind,  grooved  in  its  daily  rut,  could  not  all  at 
once  disentangle  itself  from  its  environment.  He 
was  a  fair  type  of  the  man  whom  the  transposing 
process  of  governmental  life  makes  into  a  machine. 
He  was  slight,  anemic,  not  too  careful  of  his 
clothes,  and  in  every  motion  of  his  body,  in  the 
cold  humanlessness  of  his  gray  eye,  in  the  stiff- 
ness of  his  attitudes,  he  suggested  the  class  that 
departments  produce  from  the  raw  material  in- 
trusted to  them. 

The  last  possession  of  these  human  symbols  is 
58 


The  Private  Secretary. 

ambition ;  when  that  departs  they  are  indeed  per- 
fect in  the  eyes  of  their  alma  mater.  He  had  not 
yet  reached  the  final  stage,  for,  in  his  case,  excep- 
tional circumstances  had  helped  to  avert  the  cri- 
sis. From  small  beginnings  he  had  risen,  and 
where  to  most  of  his  kind  the  solid  wall  of  men 
like  themselves,  seeking  by  the  mere  force  of 
numbers  and  commonplaceness  to  check  progress, 
was  a  sufficient  barrier,  lucky  accidents  of  death, 
departure  or  favor  had  helped  him  into  and 
through  wedge-like  entrances,  only  momentarily 
opened,  and  then  barred  forever  to  the  clamoring 
throngs. 

He  was  now  the  secretary  of  the  Honorable 
Claridge  Robertson;  he  was  more,  he  was  his 
memory  man,  one  who  never  forgot  or  mislaid 
information  that  could  assist  the  popularity  of  his 
chief.  One  of  the  reasons  for  the  phenomenal 
success  of  the  Honorable  Claridge  Robertson  was 
his  aptness  in  recognition,  his  unusual  power 
of  recalling  incidents  of  meeting,  which  it 
was  truly  remarkable,  amid  the  thousands  of 
59 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

similar  occurrences,  should  have  made  an  impres- 
sion. There  is  no  greater  power  wielded  by  the 
statesman  than  that  of  recalling  the  name,  face 
or  achievement  of  the  casual  stranger;  its  mean- 
ing lies  in  the  basic  vanity  of  humanity,  or  in  the 
restless  ambition  to  stand  out  from  the  crowd, 
and  impress  one's  individuality  on  the  shifting 
sands  of  passing  lives. 

No  one  recognized  in  the  pale-faced,  quiet- 
mannered  man  who  was  always  in  attendance 
upon  Claridge  Robertson  one  of  the  important 
elements  in  the  statesman's  popularity.  Did  he 
recognize  it  himself?  Who  could  tell?  Cer- 
tainly by  neither  word  nor  deed  of  acknowledg- 
ment had  he  ever  admitted  the  help  of  his  subordi- 
nate. The  prerogative  of  the  official  is  to  use  the 
brains  of  his  employees  to  further  his  own  ends; 
they  are  accepted  as  legitimate  aids,  as  the  tables, 
chairs  or  desks  are  employed  for  personal  com- 
fort or  need.  Thousands  of  lives  may  be  sacri- 
ficed on  the  altar  of  those  a  step  beyond  in  rank, 
but  they  are  unnoted  in  departmental  annals,  blue 
60 


The  Private  Secretary. 

books  or  yearly  reports.  The  one  thing  that  these 
lives  lack,  the  strength  to  break  away  from  their 
slavery,  is  sufficient  cause,  if  cause  were  ever  de- 
manded, why  abilities  should  not  be  taken  into  ac- 
count. Slavery  has  never  had  its  individual  cen- 
sus, and  the  slavery  of  the  brain  is  no  less  forget- 
ful than  that  of  the  body. 

The  secretary  to  the  Honorable  Claridge  Rob- 
ertson, John  Townsend,  recognized  his  own  limi- 
tations, in  which  he  differed  from  many  of  his 
kind;  he  further  recognized  that  if  he  did  not 
wish  to  lose  the  delicate  plant  of  hope  that  leads 
to  political  preferment  he  must  continue  to  make 
himself  invaluable  to  his  chief,  and  accept  uncom- 
plainingly the  apparent  blindness  of  his  superior 
to  his  merits  and  help.  No  other  way  than  this 
suggested  itself  to  his  mind,  trained  in  the  sub- 
tleties of  his  profession.  He  could  not  risk  an- 
tagonism by  demands ;  he  could  not  afford  to  see 
that  which  it  was  not  intended  he  should  see;  he 
could  not  hint  of  his  own  work  to  those  who 
might  prove  disloyal  and  sow  the  seeds  of  dis- 
61 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

trust  in  the  mind  of  the  chief  who  could  destroy 
him  with  a  word  or  look.  The  man  who  has  been 
associated  too  closely  with  a  celebrity  risks  al- 
ways the  chance  of  loss  when  the  inopportune  mo- 
ment of  his  chief's  fall  from  favor  comes,  as  come 
it  will.  The  successor  in  office  does  not  care  to 
accept  the  favorite  of  another,  neither  does  the 
man  who  goes  back  to  his  rural  constituents  and 
settles  down  to  the  life  of  the  first  man  of  the  vil- 
lage remember  that  behind  him  he  leaves  one 
whose  life  he  has  absorbed  as  a  sponge  absorbs 
water;  and,  when  the  sponge  is  wrung  dry,  it  is 
thrown  back  into  the  stagnant  pool  of  govern- 
mental service. 

In  John  Townsend's  life  lesser  ambitions  had 
been  narcotized,  but  there  was  still  one  insistent. 
He  believed  that  the  day  would  come  when  his 
chief  would  recognize  his  years  of  service,  his 
untainted  loyalty,  and  place  him  where  he  would 
be  compensated  for  his  fidelity.  The  one  thing 
that  makes  subordination  possible  to  many  is  the 
creed  that  it  leads  to  the  autocrat's  chair,  where 

62 


The  Private  Secretary. 

every  insult,  every  neglect,  every  request  ignored 
will  be  visited  in  turn  on  other  unfortunates. 

He  advanced  with  the  outstretched  hand  and 
stereotyped  smile  of  the  embryonic  diplomat. 

"  It  is  you ;  I  am  glad  to  see  you."  The  fervor 
of  his  statement  was  not  overpowering,  but  there 
are  some  whose  enthusiasm  is  so  great  that  it 
surrounds  everyone  with  a  halo  of  reflection. 

Edith  Deming  was  such  a  one.  She  was  a 
creature  so  vital  that  she  tired  as  often  as  she 
pleased.  She  had  never  exercised  restraint,  and 
the  meaning-  of  self-control  was  as  unknown  to 
her  as  if  it  were  a  versified  enigma  in  Sanskrit. 
She  was  a  creature  of  emotions,  and  the  wonder 
was  that  their  source  was  unquenchable.  She 
lacked  the  most  delicate  sense  of  all — the  sense  of 
non-color. 

About  John  Townsend  raged  the  emotions  of 
her  life  at  present.  It  was  natural  that  it  should 
be  so.  The  merciless  law  of  averages  would 
bring  them  together,  whenever  their  orbits 
touched.  Her  positive  and  his  negative  force 
63 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

were  needed  for  the  entity,  the  attempt  of  the 
natural  law.  At  his  coldness  her  own  superabun- 
dant warmth  was  tempered.  Her  heedlessness  of 
consequences,  her  entire  lack  of  power  to  read  the 
sure  laws  of  cause  and  effect,  were  ever  attracted 
by  the  quiet  reserve  that  weighed  every  word  be- 
fore it  was  spoken,  dominated  unruly  thought  and 
recognized  graver  needs  than  the  pleasure  of  the 
moment.  With  her  he  was  as  nearly  human  as 
he  could  be;  there  were  moments  of  unbending, 
seconds  when  she  was  able,  by  the  overpowering 
force  of  animal  magnetism,  to  delay  the  ossifica- 
tion of  his  machine-like  life;  intervals  when  she 
recognized  that  her  influence  had  only  political 
preferment  as  an  opposing  weight  in  the  scales. 

"  I  have  news  for  you." 

"Yes?"  To  the  ordinary  hearer  the  tone 
would  not  have  seemed  interested,  but  Edith 
Deming,  who  knew  it  well,  detected  an  unusual 
tension. 

"  It  is  as  I  suspected.  I  found  out  to-day — 
wifely  confidence,  you  know — that  Claridge  Rob- 
64 


The  Private  Secretary. 

ertson  is  to  have  the  post ;  nothing  is  known  of  it 
yet,  however." 

"You  are  sure — absolutely  sure?"  The  tone 
was  now  triumphant. 

"  Without  a  doubt." 

"  When  is  it  to  be  consummated  ?  When  will 
it  be  made  public  ?  I  should  be  with  him,  I  sup- 
pose." 

Edith  Deming  knit  her  brows.  "  That  is  the 
peculiar  part  of  the  whole  thing.  He  knows  it 
— has  known  it  for  a  week." 

"  You  are  joking!  " 

"  No ;  there  was  a  private  letter  written  to  him 
in  regard  to  it — the  usual  thing.  The  matter  will 
not  be  made  public  yet,  not  until  he  has  conferred 
with  the  others.  Strange  that  he  did  not  take 
you  into  his  confidence !  " 

"  It  is  most  unusual ;  I  don't  understand  it  at 
all.  A  week  or  ten  days,  you  say,  and  if  he  ac- 
cepts  " 

"  He  will  go  soon,  and  for  a  long  time.  It  is 
a  great  opportunity  for  someone,  for  he  will  be 
5  65 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

unable  to  keep  his  attaches  in  the  background  as 
he  has  heretofore;  it  would  not  be  to  his  interest 
to  do  so.  They  say  it  is  one  of  the  greatest 
diplomatic  affairs  on  the  tapis,  and  whoever  is 
connected  with  it  will  necessarily  acquire  prestige. 
It  is  your  opportunity.  You  must  get  it !  " 

"  But  how  ?  "  Already  the  weakness  of  the 
man  whose  acts  are  determined  by  another  was 
apparent.  "  This  is  the  first  time  for  years  that 
he  has  kept  anything  of  importance  from  me.  If 
he  has  been  blind  to  my  help  he  has  at  least 
trusted  me.  There  must  be  something  behind 
it  all.  It  may  be  the  beginning  of  the  end.  One 
can  never  tell  with  a  man  like  Robertson;  he  is 
autocratic,  and  believes  in  himself  so  thoroughly 
that  the  mere  idea  that  another  had  made  himself 
too  useful  would  be  fatal  to  that  other's  interest. 
Napoleon  would  never  allow  any  one  of  his  aides 
to  become  too  important  to  him,  you  know ;  well, 
Robertson  is  like  Napoleon  in  that  as  in  many 
other  particulars.  I  wish  I  knew.  I  don't  un- 
derstand it." 

66 


The  Private  Secretary. 

"  I  do." 

"  You  do?  What  do  you  mean?  Then  there 
is  a  reason  ?  I  am  to  go.  Why  have  you  kept  it 
from  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  definite.  I  only  suspect. 
You  know  where  he  is." 

John  Townsend  had  not  changed  his  attitude; 
where  another  man  in  the  storm  and  stress  would 
be  walking  back  and  forth  like  a  caged  animal,  he 
was  quiescent;  only  in  the  restless  tapping  of  his 
finger-tips  on  the  table  did  he  show  his  perturba- 
tion. "  Yes,  he  is  at  Mrs.  de  la  Mar's  country 
place.  It  is  the  first  vacation  he  has  taken  for 
years." 

"  I  saw  her  cousin  Clare  to-day ;  we  lunched  to- 
gether. She  has  just  come  from  there." 

"And  she  told  you ?" 

"  What  I  imagine  is  the  cause  of  Mr.  Robert- 
son's silence.  You  know  that  he  and  Mrs.  de  la 
Mar  were  old  sweethearts;  everybody  has  for- 
gotten it,  of  course,  but  Clare  says  that  Claridge 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

has  always  been  friendly — the  little  affair  did  not 
alienate  him.  She  has  a  nephew " 

"  I  remember  hearing  of  him — Kenneth  Bige- 
low.  A  garden-party  kind  of  chap,  isn't  he?  " 

"  That  is  the  general  impression ;  principally 
because  he  is  so  handsome,  I  judge.  Those  who 
know  him,  a  select  few,  say  he  is  a  good  sort ;  he 
has  lived  a  sheltered  life,  in  a  way,  but  has  pre- 
served his  manliness  in  spite  of  it.  He  is  to  be  at 
Ilkley  Villa  while  Mr.  Robertson  is  there,  and 
by  putting  two  and  two  together  I  should  imagine 
that  there  was  something  in  the  wind  in  regard 
to  the  coming  appointment.  It  is  a  ghastly  out- 
rage, if  it  is  so,  after  all  your  years  of  service, 
your  continual  and  unselfish  devotion ;  it  is  worse 
than  ungrateful — it  is  brutal."  Edith  Deming 
was  never  too  choice  in  her  words;  the  superla- 
tive had  always  for  her  a  strong  attraction. 

"What  can  I  do?"  The  weakling  again 
spoke. 

"Do?  I  don't  know;  something,  I  should  say, 
and  at  once.  Can't  you  go  down  there,  or  shall 
68 


The  Private  Secretary. 

I?  You  must  not  let  things  take  their  course. 
Someone  should  be  on  the  ground,  that  is  cer- 
tain. Perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  me  to 
go  and  worm  my  way  into  things,  see  how 
the  land  lies  and  let  you  know.  If  there  is  any- 
thing possible  to  be  done  to  avert  it,  you  may  be 
sure  I  shall  not  be  witless.  I  have  a  standing  in- 
vitation, so  my  appearance  will  cause  no  com- 
ment." 

"  You  will  not,"  he  spoke  after  a  long  silence, 
"  do  anything  to  jeopardize  the  claim  I  already 
have ?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  of  what  you  are  thinking.  I 
shall  never  be  a  thorough-going  diplomat,  but  you 
can  trust  me  in  this;  there  is  too  much  at  stake! 
You  must  find  an  excuse  to  follow  me.  All  that 
I  shall  be  able  to  do  is  to  find  out  if  my  presenti- 
ment is  correct.  You  shall  get  this — you  shall; 
there  are  great  possibilities  in  it." 

She  turned  suddenly  and  placed  both  hands  on 
his  shoulders.  They  were  standing  at  the  mo- 
ment of  departure,  after  a  few  trifles  of  arrange- 
69 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

merit  and  further  wonder  in  regard  to  the  situa- 
tion had  been  expressed. 

"  If  it  comes — if  you  succeed — will  you  take 
me?  Oh,  the  years  I  have  waited,  the  years  I 
have  suffered!  But  there  must  come  an  end 
some  time;  this  can't  go  on  forever!  He  is  im- 
possible, austere,  cold,  more  indifferent  and  more 
exacting  than  ever.  He  will  be  only  too  gladr 
after  the  gossip  dies  out.  He  will  grant  me  a 
divorce,  I  know;  he  is  too  proud  to  refuse,  but  I 
must  do  something  decisive  to  gain  it.  Plead- 
ings, arguments,  I  have  tried  all  those,  but  it  is 
a  trouble,  and  he  thinks  only  of  his  comfort  and 
what  the  world  might  say.  The  step  once  taken, 
he  will  give  it  to  me.  I  can,  I  will  force  him, 
if  you  will  help  me." 

He  withdrew  her  hands  from  his  shoulders  and 
gazed  behind  him,  cautiously.  "  Careful,  the 
messenger  may  come  at  any  moment." 

"  Oh,  why  are  you  so  careful  and  cold  ?  Give 
up  to  your  emotions  once ;  be  human — a  man !  " 

A  moment's  softness  illumined  his  face ;  for  an 
70 


The  Private  Secretary. 

infinitesimal  portion  of  time  it  was  transfigured. 
An  inner  light  seemed  to  glow  through  the  stiff 
mask  of  constraint.  "  I  could  not  be  cold  and  in- 
different to  you.  I  am  conscious  of  all  you  have 
done  for  me;  if  it  were  not  for  you  I  should  not 
be  here;  you  have  served  my  interests  well.  I 
am  not  ungrateful." 

"  Gratitude !  I  am  not  asking  for  gratitude 
— stones,  when  I  want  bread." 

"  I  know — you  have  everything — you  should 
feel  that." 

"  But  why  do  you  not  show  it  ?  Why  do  you 
shut  it  into  your  heart  and  keep  me  outside  the 
barred  door?" 

"  I  am  afraid — my  position — the  world." 

She  wrung  her  hands  until  the  kid  split. 
"  Haven't  you  ever  known  what  it  was  not  to 
care  for  position,  or  the  world,  or  the  to-morrow  ? 
Haven't  you  any  appreciation  of  the  delight  of 
absolute  self-renunciation  ?  " 

He  caught  her  wrists  in  his  thin  fingers,  which 
closed  about  them  till  they  ached.  His  pale  face, 
71 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

whitened  by  the  sedentary  life  and  by  the  denial 
of  human  interests,  glowed  as  through  an  inter- 
vening substance  an  incandescent  bulb  gives  a 
mysterious  light. 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  racked  un- 
ceasingly by  emotions  for  which  one  dares  not 
find  a  vent?  Do  you  know  the  torture  of  the 
conflict  between  inclination  and  habit  ?  You  who 
throw  off  responsibility,  duty,  the  social  laws,  all, 
everything — who  speak  of  freeing  yourself  from 
the  burden  of  marriage  as  another  woman  dis- 
cusses changing  her  gown,  can  you  grasp  the  idea 
of  the  agony  the  soul  endures  which  has  to  fight 
inheritance,  the  ethics  of  early  training  and  the 
iron  bond  of  daily  habit  ?  I  am  like  one  of  those 
creatures  that  nature  has  encased  in  a  convoluted 
shell,  always  desiring  the  life  of  other  beings,  al- 
ways striving  to  get  somewhere,  and  yet  weighted 
-down  by  an  intolerable  burden.  Outside  is  the 
sky,  the  open,  the  life  of  the  free;  within,  the 
withered  body,  bereft  of  its  privileges."  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands;  when  he 

72 


The  Private  Secretary. 

withdrew  them  he  had  resumed  his  mask, 
"  Come,  you  will  need  to  make  preparations,  and 
I  am  detaining  you." 

He  opened  the  door,  and  she  did  not  dare,  law- 
less as  she  was,  to  contradict  his  expressed  wish 
to  be  alone.  She  was  too  feminine,  however,  to 
deny  herself  the  privilege  of  the  last  word. 
"  You  are  wronging  yourself  and  me  to  act  in 
this  way.  I  hate  your  forced  virtues,  those  that 
have  been  thrust  upon  you  by  your  ancestors  and 
by  your  mistakes.  I  hate  those  you  force  on  me, 
patience,  waiting,  resignation.  I  want  to  be  my- 
self and  I  want " 

He  took  her  hand  gently.  "  My  dear  child, 
don't!  You  only  unnerve  yourself  and  me.  I 
have  a  great  deal  of  work  to  do  and  I  must  have 
serenity  of  thought ;  no  one  can  think  whose  mind 
is  upset  by  the  war  of  feelings.  Oh,  you  women, 
whose  days  are  but  a  search  for  new  sensations, 
little  do  you  realize  what  havoc  you  create 
in  the  lives  that  must  be  absolutely  emotionless 
to  do  their  allotted  tasks."  He  was  smiling  his 
73 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

cold,  slight  smile,  and  she  knew  that  the  inter- 
view was  over. 

She  closed  the  door  and  leaned  against  the  iron 
railings  as  she  waited  for  the  elevator.  The  look 
of  expectation,  thwarted  continually  by  the  im- 
passivity of  an  unresponsive  being,  had  changed 
to  one  of  exultation.  Beneath  her  breath  she 
murmured,  in  ecstatic  syllables,  "He  is  mine; 
he  is  mine  at  last !  "  Even  on  the  street  her  tri- 
umphant look  did  not  change,  and  passers-by 
wondered  at  it.  For  the  first  time  she  saw  the  be- 
ginning of  the  end,  the  possibility  of  freedom 
from  the  bond  she  hated,  as  only  a  woman  of  her 
type  can  hate  the  chain  that  fastens  her  to  one 
whom  she  loathes  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul. 

She  made  her  preparations  that  evening,  after 
a  stormy  interview  with  her  husband,  and  amid 
a  warring  of  feelings — hope,  fear,  triumph,  de- 
spair. Often  the  old  doubt  racked  her.  "  Al- 
ways at  the  moment  of  yielding  he  remembers; 
I  am  nothing  to  him,  less  than  nothing.  He 
could  forget  me  soon,  or  remember  me  as  a  hazy 
74 


The  Private  Secretary-. 

might-have-been,  as  a  monk  in  his  cloister  re- 
calls the  faces  of  other  days.  Oh,  I  don't  know, 
I  don't  know,  but  I  must  take  the  chance — my 
only  chance." 

Then  she  fell  asleep  with  his  name  on  her  lips. 


75 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CONCERNING  AN  AWKWARD  BUNDLE. 

A  JOURNEY  meant  little  to  Edith  Deming;  al- 
ways impatient,  she  was  never  more  so  than  when 
she  started  to  travel.  She  neither  looked  for  nor 
desired  distraction.  She  chafed  at  the  necessary 
evils,  and  the  stoppings  of  the  local  train  wrought 
havoc  to  her  peace  of  mind.  By  the  time  she  had 
reached  the  end  of  any  journey  she  was  more  fit 
for  a  sanatorium  than  the  quiet  of  a  respectable 
home,  where  she  was  expected  to  play  the  role 
of  guest.  This  day  was  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
It  was  hot  and  there  had  been  more  than  the 
usual  tardiness  in  regard  to  the  schedule  time. 
She  had  written  announcing  her  arrival,  and  for- 
gotten to  have  the  letter  posted.  She  had  deter- 
mined to  telegraph,  and  at  the  last  moment  had 
76 


Concerning  an  Awkward  Bundle. 

been  too  hurried.  In  consequence,  when  she 
alighted  at  the  station,  the  only  passenger,  there 
was  no  one  to  meet  her,  and  the  one  conveyance 
a  rusty-looking  carriage,  with  a  horse  whose  ribs 
looked  like  a  diagram  of  the  field  of  Waterloo. 

She  threw  herself  on  the  mercy  of  the  driver, 
who  had  donned  a  napless  overcoat  to  preserve 
him  from  dust,  and,  after  an  inaudible  prayer  that 
she  might  live  through  the  experience  of  spring- 
less  jolts,  endless  hills  and  the  choking  dust  of  an 
unwatered  highway,  clambered  in,  tearing  her 
filmy  dress,  forgetting  to  give  directions  concern- 
ing her  trunk,  so  that  they  had  to  drive  back,  after 
they  had  gone  a  mile,  to  remedy  the  omission. 
She  tried  to  dispel  her  irritation  by  a  running  fire 
of  question  and  comment  to  the  driver  who  re- 
sponded with  monosyllables,  until  an  interroga- 
tion concerning  the  visitors  at  Mrs.  de  la  Mar's 
roused  his  interest.  His  own  enthusiasm  com- 
municated itself  to  Mrs.  Deming.  Fatigue  and 
irritation  were  alike  forgotten  as  she  realized  that 
she  had  already  put  her  hands  on  one  of  the 

77 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

threads  of  the  tangle  she  had  come  to  unravel  or 
coil  tighter,  as  circumstances  invited.  She  kept 
pace  with  his  confessions  with  a  running  fire  of 
comment. 

So  there  was  a  young  girl  there  who  looked 
like  an  angel,  or  a  big  doll  with  golden  hair  and 
blue  eyes! 

She  had  not  been  expected  either,  it  seemed. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  an  old  school  friend 
of  Mrs.  de  la  Mar's! 

She  had  known  of  the  two  masculine  guests ! 

She  had  inquired  particularly  at  what  point  of 
the  road  it  was  necessary  to  alight  in  order  to 
get  into  the  rose  garden! 

She  had  left  an  old  cloak,  hat,  gloves  and  shoes 
under  the  seat,  and  had  told  him  to  take  them 
around  to  the  house  and  leave  them  with  her  maid. 
He  had  not  done  so  yet,  for  he  had  had  to  go 
back  to  the  station  for  something!  .* 

She  was  beautiful  when  she  took  them  off — all 
in  white ! 

A  sudden  inspiration  seized  Mrs.  Deming.  "  I 
78 


Concerning  an  Awkward  Bundle. 

will  take  them  myself,"  she  declared.  She  was 
determined  to  find  out  what  the  masquerade 
meant.  No  woman  took  all  that  trouble  unless 
there  was  an  underlying  motive,  and  an  under- 
lying motive  had  always  to  do  with  a  man — 
which  man  was  it,  the  statesman  or  the  nephew? 
Was  this  unexpected  circumstance  going  to  help 
her  or  hinder  her? 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  task  to  toil  along  a  wind- 
ing path  with  a  heavy  bundle  of  clothes;  neither 
was  it  picturesque.  Fortunately  for  Edith  Dem- 
ing,  pride  in  her  personal  appearance  was  not  one 
of  her  failings,  and  the  possibility  of  finding  some- 
thing that  would  aid  her  in  the  coming  struggle 
for  the  man  she  loved  was  compensation  enough. 

They  were  sitting  as  they  had  been  the  day  be- 
fore— the  ingenue  on  the  pile  of  scarlet  cushions, 
the  statesman  and  Kenneth  Bigelow  on  either 
side,  helping  her  to  tea  and  bonbons.  In  the  last 
twenty-four  hours  the  situation  had  changed  from 
the  tenseness  of  incessant  criticism  into  the  re- 
laxation of  a  house-party  that  has  no  raison 
79 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

'd'etre  except  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment.  The 
ingenue  was  responsible  for  this.  She  refused  to 
see  that  there  was  any  reason  why  she  should  not 
engage  the  unremitting  attention  of  the  two  men 
from  breakfast  till  bedtime.  She  was  in  her 
most  disarming  mood.  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  was 
worldly  to  the  core;  but  even  a  woman  of  the 
world  may  have  her  suspicions  lulled  by  one  who 
seems  to  have  no  ulterior  object  in  life  but  eating 
nougat,  chasing  a  ball  on  the  links,  or  playing 
blind  pig  with  a  man  old  enough  to  be  her  father. 

Into  this  peaceful  circle  entered  Edith  Deming, 
perspiring  and  flushed,  in  her  arms  a  weird- 
shaped  bundle,  her  gown  torn  at  the  edges,  in 
her  eyes  the  twofold  expression  of  one  who  has 
acted  from  impulse  and  is  already  questioning  its 
judgment,  while  she  sees  no  way  of  extricating 
herself  from  the  burden  of  its  dilemma. 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  rose  with  a  cry  of  welcoming" 
surprise.  She  had  a  most  profound  affection  for 
Edith  Deming.  The  eyes  of  the  ingenue  widened 
80 


Concerning  an  Awkward  Bundle. 

a  little  as  she  looked  at  the  bundle ;  then  she  went 
on  placidly  munching  chocolate. 

The  incongruity  of  the  package  with  her 
guest's  appearance  at  last  excited  Mrs.  de  la  Mar's 
laughter.  "For  heaven's  sake,  Edith,  what  have 
you  there?  You  look  as  if  you  were  clothing  a 
charitable  institution  by  hand." 

There  was  a  momentary  pause  while  the  four 
waited  expectantly,  their  eyes  on  the  awkwardly 
shaped  encumbrance. 

The  new  arrival  held  it  out  to  the  ingenue. 
"  The  driver  said  you  left  it  in  the  carriage,  and 
I  saved  him  the  trouble  of  bringing  it  to  the 
house." 

"  It  is  so  kind  of  you,"  said  the  ingenue,  and 
in  her  voice  was  the  tone  of  gratitude.  "  They 
are  Jane's."  She  turned  with  a  winning  smile, 
which  disclosed  tiny  white  teeth.  "  You  see,  my 
feet  never  touch  the  ground,  though  I  sit  tall. 
You  have  noticed  it,"  and  she  appealed  to  the 
statesman,  who  nodded  assent,  and  then  won- 


81 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

dered  if  he  had.     "  I  borrowed  these  of  Jane  to 
raise  my  feet." 

Mrs.  Deming  looked  at  her,  skeptically,  but 
the  gaze  that  met  her  own  would  have  disarmed 
suspicion  in  the  mind  of  a  Scotland  Yard  detec- 
tive. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FROM  A  SINGLE  DESK. 

No  matter  how  big  the  house  may  be,  there  is 
always  the  living  place  where  the  heart  of  life 
throbs.  At  Ilkley  Villa  the  great  hall,  which  di- 
vided the  rooms  as  an  artery  sweeps  through  a 
body,  was  the  favorite  rendezvous,  even  in  the 
warmest  days.  The  Japanese  wind-bells  hung 
there  tinkling  musically,  and  the  vistas  of  green 
through  the  open  doors,  stretching  in  long  arcades 
whichever  way  the  eye  turned,  were  delightful  to 
the  sense.  At  one  end  of  the  hall  an  enormous 
desk,  stacked  with  every  possible  appliance,  in- 
vited to  correspondence.  Few  could  resist  the 
magnetism  of  that  corner;  letters  that  would 
never  have  been  written  else  owed  their  genesis 
to  it;  quarrels  were  made  up,  invitations  given, 

83 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

secrets  divulged ;  in  a  word,  it  was  one  of  the  si- 
lent influences  of  a  well-managed  home. 

On  this  particular  day  the  heat  prevented  out- 
of-door  amusements;  one  by  one  the  members 
of  the  household  disappeared  without  excuse, 
and  the  place  was,  after  a  while,  deserted. 
But  only  for  a  time.  Its  serenity  was  suddenly 
disturbed  by  the  quick  click  of  heels  on  the  un- 
carpeted  stairs,  by  the  rustle  of  silken  draperies 
and  the  quick  breathing  of  an  impatient  body  as 
Edith  Deming  ran  down  the  stairs.  She  always 
ran  up  and  down  stairs,  indifferent  to  tempera- 
ture as  she  was  to  indigestion.  She  had  no  espe- 
cial object  in  her  quest,  unless  it  might  be  to  find 
her  hostess  and  have  a  heart-to-heart  talk;  to 
watch  with  cat-like  eye  the  statesman  and  Ken- 
neth Bigelow,  or,  perhaps,  to  try  once  more,  as 
she  had  tried  numberless  times  in  the  last  few 
days,  to  detect  Blanche  Adrian  in  a  moment  of 
forgetfulness,  when  she  could  find  out  if  the  girl 
was  really  as  ingenuous  as  she  seemed. 

But  the  barren  hall  mocked  these  half-formed 
84 


From  a  Single  Desk. 

ambitions.  She  sighed.  What  could  she  do? — 
rest,  sew,  read? — a  trio  of  amusements  for  the 
woman  whose  mind  is  reposeful,  not  for  one 
whose  constant  need  of  expression  seeks  more 
extravagant  means.  She  paced  back  and  forth 
from  one  end  of  the  house  to  the  other,  from  door 
to  door;  but  the  sun-flecked  path  offered  no  in- 
ducement for  her  to  continue  her  walk  outside. 
She  turned  for  the  fifth  time,  when  her  restless 
glance  caught  sight  of  the  desk,  with  its  paper, 
ink-wells,  blotters  and  the  like,  carefully  arranged 
for  the  day's  correspondence.  Apparently  she 
was  the  first,  for  the  spotlessness  of  the  materials 
spoke  in  silent  eloquence  of  recent  care.  She 
whirled  suddenly  toward  the  corner  and  threw 
herself  on  the  stiff,  high-backed  chair,  whose 
rigid  lines  and  uncushioned  firmness  offered  no 
distraction  to  mental  stimulus. 

She  wrote  two  letters  in  the  order  a  child  main- 
tains who,  given  bread  and  cake,  saves  the  cake 
until  the  last,  in  order  to  enjoy  the  delight  of  an- 
ticipation.    The  first   was  blotted,  the  second 
85 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

would  have  been  if  she  had  not  rewritten  it  in 
order  to  avoid  disturbing  the  fastidious  sense  of 
the  recipient. 

The  initial  one  read : 

"  MY  DEAR  HUSBAND  : 

"  Arrived  safely.  You  were  mistaken  as  usual. 
Mrs.  de  la  Mar  was  perfectly  delighted  to  see  me, 
and  the  house  is  not  full.  I  don't  know  when  I 
shall  be  back,  and  I  don't  suppose  you  care. 

"  EDITH." 

The  last  one  was  considerably  longer.  She 
hesitated  for  a  moment  over  the  superlative,  and 
then,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  wrote  it 
firmly : 

"  DEAREST  : 

"  The  situation  is  tense — that  is  certain ;  and  as 
I  wrote  you  before,  on  some  excuse  or  other  you 
must  come,  for  I  can  do  nothing.  Mr.  Robert- 
son is  more  or  less  under  the  influence  of  Mrs.  de 
la  Mar — just  how  much  I  don't  know;  not 
86 


From  a  Single  Desk. 

enough,  I  should  judge,  to  outweigh  his  pru- 
dence. I  am  as  sure  as  anyone  can  be  of  any- 
thing in  this  world  that  there  is  nothing  decided 
as  yet,  but  it  may  come  any  moment.  His  atti- 
tude toward  the  nephew  is  that  of  one  who  is 
studying,  but  he  shows  a  decided  trend  in  his 
favor.  I  have  sounded  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  again  and 
again,  but  without  success.  Her  evident  anxiety 
is,  however,  another  reason  for  the  belief  that 
things  are  in  the  balance.  Look  over  the  letters 
and  find  something  that  needs  a  personal  in- 
terview; or,  better,  take  the  bull  by  the  horns, 
tell  him  you  have  heard  these  rumors  and  that 
you  wanted  to  be  the  first  to  notify  him.  These 
are  merely  suggestions,  but  come  you  must. 

"  There  is  a  young  girl  here  who  will  bear 
watching.  She  is  apparently  as  innocent  as  she 
looks,  and  that  arouses  my  suspicions,  for  no  one 
could  be.  She  is  a  young1  thing — in  years,  I 
mean,  but  if  she  be  what  I  suspect,  I  could  sit  at 
her  feet  and  imbibe  wisdom.  I  imagine  that  she 
is  here  with  a  purpose,  and  that  purpose  has  to  do 
with  one  of  the  two  men — which  one  is  the  mys- 
tery. Her  attentions  are  equally  divided,  and,  I 
should  say,  equally  acceptable.  If  there  is  to  be 

87 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

a  rivalry  it  may  help  your  cause.     Come  and  see 
for  yourself  if  what  I  suspect  be  true." 

She  had  reached  the  end  of  the  page ;  there  was 
just  room  for  her  signature.  She  started  to 
write  it;  then  a  sudden  impulse  seized  her;  she 
turned  the  page,  and  continued : 

"  Think  of  what  I  said  to  you  when  we  parted 
—only  think!  Let  us  be  happy  together!  The 
divorce  can  be  arranged;  it  must  be!  I  have 
made  myself  so  disagreeable  that  I  know  he  needs 
only  a  sufficient  excuse  to  grant  my  wish." 

She  signed  her  name  hurriedly,  blotted  and  tore 
two  envelopes,  threw  the  remains  in  the  copper 
waste-basket  at  the  side  of  the  desk,  and  then 
walked  to  the  mail-bag  at  the  further  end  of  the 
hall,  in  which  she  placed  her  letters.  Writing 
had  not  calmed  her  mood,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
midday  heat,  she  determined  to  venture  forth  and 
seek  an  oasis  of  shade. 

She  was  followed  by  the  statesman,  who 
88 


From  a  Single  Desk. 

strolled  into  the  hall  from  his  own  room,  where 
he  had  been  perusing  some  private  letters.  He, 
had  come  with  a  purpose,  and  the  attractions  of 
lawns  and  far-off  tree-tops,  like  waving  fans,  did 
not  disturb  his  mind,  trained  to  concentration. 

He  seated  himself  at  the  desk  and  drew  its  ap- 
pliances toward  him.  He  wrote  deliberately,  af- 
ter trying  the  pens,  placing  the  chair  so  that  the 
light  fell  full  on  the  page,  and  measuring  to  see 
that  the  paper  should  be  folded  once  instead  of 
twice  to  fit  the  envelopes.  His  letter  read : 

"DEAR : 

"  Further  in  relation  to  our  correspondence,  I 
will  say  that  I  have  decided  to  accept  the  post, 
I  must  ask  that  the  matter  be  not  made  public 
until  I  have  an  opportunity  for  a  personal  con- 
ference. In  regard  to  the  secretaryship,  which 
you  say  will  be  a  position  of  great  importance  and 
considerable  prestige,  I  could  not  consider  for  a 
moment  the  man  you  suggest — I  will  give  my 
reasons,  which  will  satisfy  you  fully,  when  we 
meet.  I  have  two  men  in  mind,  and  my  stay  here 
will  determine  the  fitness  of  one — Mrs.  de  la 

89 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

Mar's  nephew,  you  have  heard  of  him ;  the  other 
is  my  present  secretary,  John  Townsend.  As 
you  say,  I  shall  require  a  man  whose,  trustworthi- 
ness and  ability  are  beyond  the  normal. 

"  My  regards  to  your  family.  You  say  that 
your  wife  told  Mrs.  Deming.  She  is  here,  but 
has  not  given  a  hint  of  her  information.  I  shall 
really  believe  that  a  woman  can  keep  a  secret. 
When  will  the  official  notification  be  sent  me?  I 
hope  the  matter  will  not  leak  out  before  then,  as 
it  might  tie  my  hands  somewhat." 

It  had  taken  him  a  long  time  to  write  the  letter, 
for  he  weighed  every  word  carefully.  Having 
signed  it,  he  leaned  back  in  a  moment  of  satisfac- 
tion, and,  forgetting  that  he  was  not  in  his  own 
swinging  desk-chair,  attempted  to  turn.  In  do- 
ing so,  he  put  out  his  foot  and  upset  the  copper 
waste-holder. 

He  picked  it  up  to  restore  it  to  its  place.     There 

were  but  three  strips  of  paper  in  it,  and  these  his 

eye  could  not  avoid.     An  envelope  torn  half-way 

across  had  on  it  the  name  of  his  secretary,  and  on 

90 


From  a  Single  Desk. 

a  jagged  edge  of  paper,  in  the  same  handwriting, 
the  word  "  Dearest  "  invited  speculation. 

He  looked  thoughtfully  out  of  the  wide  door- 
way to  watch  Mrs.  Deming  as  she  strolled  toward 
a  distant  point  of  shade.  Had  he  been  ten  years 
younger  he  would  have  whistled;  as  it  was,  he 
contented  himself  with  a  stare  of  amazement. 

He  was  irritated,  too,  for  he  had  believed  his 
secretary  as  free  from  feminine  entanglement  as 
he  was  himself.  He  had  never  manifested  any 
interest  in  his  life,  and  there  was  no  reason  why 
he  should  be  surprised  to  learn  of  hidden  depths ; 
it  was  irrational,  he  knew,  and  he  was  as  much 
angered  at  the  irrationality  as  he  was  at  its  cause. 

So,  Edith  Deming's  unexpected  appearance 
must  have  something  to  do  with  his  affairs.  She 
had,  of  course,  told  his  secretary  of  the  coming 
appointment  and  had  herself  come  to  watch  and 
report.  He  strolled  up  and  down  the  hall  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  She  was  a  dangerous 
woman,  with  her  impulsive  ways  and  passionate 
temperament  It  would  not  be  safe  to  have  about 
91 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

him  a  man  who  was  under  her  influence.  It  was 
well  that  he  had  discovered  this  affair  in  time. 
His  choice,  it  seemed,  was  narrowed.  Yet,  per- 
haps he  was  doing  John  Townsend  an  injustice, 
He  might  be  the  unwilling  object  of  an  impetuous 
woman's  adoration.  Then  he  questioned :  Would 
even  a  woman  like  Edith  Deming  commence  a 
letter  to  a  man  in  that  style  unless  she  were  sure 
it  would  be  acceptable? 

As  he  walked  out  of  the  door,  at  one  end  of  the 
hall,  thinking  deeply,  the  ingenue  floated  in  from 
the  other.  She  seated  herself  at  the  desk  and  ar- 
ranged her  muslin  draperies  gracefully  about  her 
feet,  leaving  only  one  of  them  in  view.  She  was 
very  fresh  and  dainty,  and  looked  not  unlike  the 
big  doll  to  which  the  driver  of  the  carriage  had 
likened  her. 

She,  too,  selected  her  pen  and  paper  with  care, 
them  commenced  to  write,  stealing  glances  now 
and  then  into  the  world  outside,  up  the  stairs, 
through  the  doors,  as  if  she  awaited  someone. 
The  pen  moved  languidly  over  the  perfumed 
paper. 

92 


From  a  Single  Desk. 

"  MY  DEAR  MAMMA  : 

"I  arrived  safely,  and  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  was  per- 
fectly delighted  to  see  me.  I  made  my  debut 
through  the  rose  garden,  and  it  was  successful. 
The  wraps  that  I  left  in  the  carriage  were  re- 
turned to  me  the  next  day  by  another  unexpected 
guest,  a  Mrs.  Deming,  who  found  them 
under  the  seat  and  brought  them  to  me. 
I  wish  you  could  have  seen  her — she  thought 
she  had  unraveled  an  intricate  situation  with  un 
grand  coup,  but  by  the  time  I  had  finished  with 
her  she  was  as  flustered  in  her  mind  as 
in  her  body — and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal.  I 
have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind  which  one  of 
Mrs.  de  la  Mar's  guests  is  to  have  the  honor 
of  leading  me  to  the  altar;  in  fact,  there  is 
something  in  the  atmosphere  here  that  eludes  me. 
But  I  shall  find  out  what  it  is  before  long;  trust 
me.  The  nephew  has  moments  of  being  dis- 
trait, the  statesman  is  restless,  Mrs.  de  la  Mar 
acts  like  a  hen  watching  chickens.  Mrs.  Deming 
suspects  everybody  of  something — even  me; 
fancy  that!  I  am  really  the  only  cool  and  com- 
posed one  in  the  party,  and  I  have  the  most  at 
stake.  It  is  hard  to  settle  one's  future  with  a  lot 

93 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

of  people  who  are  perfectly  callous  as  to  its  im- 
portance, but  I  have  not  changed  my  mind.  It 
will  be  settled  and  your  long  waiting  is  to  have 
its  reward.  Within  the  shadow  of  the  marriage 
certificate  you  will  regain  your  health  and 
strength.  There  is  nothing  like  a  marriage  cer- 
tificate for  mothers  afflicted  with  insomnia — 
take  my  word  for  it.  Don't  despair ! 

"  Your  loving  daughter, 

"  BLANCHE. 

"  P.  S.  You  are  to  be  absolutely  obdurate  if 
any  admirer  appears." 

She  supplemented  this  letter  with  two  others. 
The  first  one  was  directed  to  a  certain  Rudolph 
Vanderlinck. 


"  MY  DEAR  RUDOLPH  : 

"  It  is  impossible.  Fate  is  unkind,  but  we  must 
bow  to  its  decree.  My  guardian  and  mother  are 
bitterly  opposed,  and  I  am  too  weak  to  resist. 
This  is  indeed  good-bye.  Do  not  attempt  to  see 
me;  it  would  only  make  it  harder.  We  shall  be 

94 


From  a  Single  Desk. 

reunited,  I  am  sure,  in  death,  though  this  life  sep- 
arates us. 

"  Yours, 

"  B." 

And  the  second  to  Mr.  Clarence  Bourne. 

"  MY  DEAR  CLARENCE  : 

"  Elopement  is  out  of  the  question ;  at  the  last 
moment  my  heart  misgives  me.  How  could  I 
even  think  of  being  so  heartless  to  my  poor,  wid- 
owed mother !  You  will  forget  me,  I  know — this 
is  the  irony  of  life — while  I  shall  never  be  able 
to  erase  you  from  the  tablets  of  my  memory.  I 
have  been  sent  away.  Do  not  write  or  try  to  see 
me;  I  could  not  bear  it. 

"  Yours, 

"  B." 

"  It  is  just  as  well,"  said  the  ingenue,  as  she 
daintily  moistened  the  stamps  and  placed  them 
accurately  on  the  envelopes,  "  to  be  off  with  the 
old  loves  before  one  is  on  with  the  new." 

One  of  the  new  came  into  the  hall  at  that  mo- 
ment. There  was  a  faint  flush  on  his  cheek  from 

95 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

his  walk,  and  his  eyes  were  shining.  He  smiled 
at  the  ingenue  with  a  smile  of  one  comrade  to 
another.  "  It's  a  shame,  isn't  it,"  he  asked,  "  that 
it  is  too  hot  for  golf?"  and  then,  noticing  the 
pile  of  letters  at  her  hand,  "  I  must  write  to  my 
father.  I  should  have  written  before." 

The  ingenue  made  way  for  him  at  the  desk. 
"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  with  feminine  curiosity, 
"  are  you  and  your  father  such  chums  that  you 
can't  be  separated  for  a  few  days  without  corre- 
sponding ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  it  isn't  that."  And  Kenneth  smiled 
at  the  thought  of  a  chumship  between  his  austere 
parent  and  himself.  It  is  merely  a  matter  of  bus- 
iness. I  promised  to  let  him  know  about  some- 
thing, and  though  there  really  isn't  anything  to 
write,  I  ought  to  let  him  know  that  at  least." 

"Know  what?" 

"  That  nothing  has  happened." 

So  there  were  others  beside  herself  who  ex- 
pected something  to  happen !  This  accounted  for 
the  atmosphere  that  had  puzzled  her.  She 
96 


From  a  Single  Desk. 

thought  over  details.  How  obtuse  she  had  been ! 
She  recalled  Mrs.  de  la  Mar's  letter  and  her  evi- 
dent desire  to  have  no  other  guests  while  the 
Honorable  Claridge  Robertson  and  her  nephew 
were  with  her.  Of  course  that  was  it;  everyone 
knew  how  ambitious  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  was  for  her 
nephew.  Well,  she  certainly  had  been  charming 
under  the  infliction  of  having  her  carefully  laid 
plans  spoiled.  Being  selfish  herself,  there  was 
nothing  the  ingenue  admired  so  much  as  unsel- 
fishness in  others. 

She  must  find  out  if  her  intuition  was  cor- 
rect. "  Is  he  so  obdurate?  "  she  asked,  softly. 

The  young  man  turned  to  her.  "  So  auntie 
has  told  you !  No,  he  isn't  obdurate,  exactly ;  one 
can't  blame  a  man  for  being  particular  as  to  those 
who  shall  stand  with  him.  I  should  have 
no  respect  for  him  if  he  were  not;  but  it 
is  hard  for  me  to  wait,  for  I  am  anxious  to  have 
my  future  settled." 

Apparently  there  was  another  future  hanging 
in  the  balance. 

7  97 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

"  Is  there  any  reason  why  he  should  hesitate  ?  " 
she  asked. 

""  None  that  I  know  of.  I  have  not  had  any 
great  amount  of  training  in  politics,  it  is  true, 
but  that  will  come;  our  opinions  agree  perfectly. 
I  have  some  influence,  which  would  be  directed 
his  way,  and  I  am  entirely  free;  being  a  bachelor 
himself,  I  presume  that  fact  is  of  more  importance 
to  him  than  it  would  be  to  a  man  of  family." 

"  Oh ! "  the  ingenue  breathed,  as  if  she  had 
just  received  a  slight  shock.  She  curled  up  in 
a  corner  of  the  couch  and  watched  Kenneth  while 
he  wrote  his  letter,  wondering,  meanwhile,  from 
this  new  standpoint,  how  the  consummation  of 
her  own  plans  would  affect  those  of  the  two  men. 
She  interrupted  only  twice,  once  to  ask,  hesitat- 
ingly, "  If  you  don't  succeed  in  convincing  him, 
what  then  ?  " 

He  laid  down  his  pen  and  answered  her  with 

a  hopeless  expression.     "  I  have  promised  my 

father  that  if  I  don't  succeed  with  Mr.  Robertson 

I  will  go  into  business.    You  see,  I  am  the  only 

98 


From  a  Single  Desk. 

child  and  he  wishes  it,  but  I  loathe  it.  I  have 
neither  the  ambition  nor  the  inclination  for  com- 
mercial life." 

The  second  interruption  was :  "  There  is  no 
third  choice?  " 

"  None.  I  thought  at  one  time  there  might 
be,  but  that  time  has  passed.  I  will  not  dabble 
in  art.  One  must  have  genius  or  stay  out  of  it 
— there  is  no  excuse  for,  and  no  pleasure  in,  med- 
iocrity." 

He  resumed  his  letter,  which  read : 

"  MY  DEAR  FATHER  : 

"  I  have  thought  over  our  conversation  on  the 
night  of  my  coming  away.  I  will  keep  my  prom- 
ise to  you,  and  agree  with  you  that  I  have  been 
undecided  long  enough.  I  have  left  no  stone  un- 
turned to  convince  the  Honorable  Mr.  Robertson 
of  my  fitness  for  his  approval  and  help.  If  with 
so  much  in  my  favor — friends,  opportunity  and 
leisure — I  cannot  do  this,  I  certainly  could  not 
convince  others,  and  shall  accept  his  ultimatum 
on  my  political  career,  which  means  that,  if  un- 

99 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

favorable,  I  shall  follow  in  your  footsteps  and 
endeavor  to  forget  my  aspirations. 

"  Your  son, 

"  KENNETH." 

The  statesman  had  overtaken  Edith  Deming 
and  strolled  by  her  side,  after  excusing  himself 
for  lighting  a  cigar.  They  talked  of  many  things. 
Underneath  the  statesman's  apparent  nonchalance 
an  occasional  sting,  hardly  a  pin-prick,  cleverly 
goaded  Mrs.  Deming  to  the  point  of  exaspera- 
tion. Why  did  he  insinuate  this  and  this,  and 
this  ?  was  her  mental  comment.  Had  he  intended 
that,  or  was  she  too  quick  in  her  conclusions  ?  He 
certainly  meant — but,  did  he,  with  that  placid 
voice  and  careless  manner? 

He  congratulated  himself  as  he  saw  her  grad- 
ually writhing  to  the  point  where  her  natural 
impulsiveness  would  break  the  bond  of  control 
she  had  placed  upon  her  speech.  He  had  known 
her  for  years  and  accurately  gauged  her  capacity 
for  restraint. 

100 


From  a  Single  Desk. 

The  ingenue  and  Kenneth  Bigelow  stepped 
through  the  long  French  windows  to  the  porch 
and  looked  about  them,  undecided  whether  to  try 
the  lawn  or  the  chairs. 

The  tall,  graceful  youth  in  his  light  flannels 
gave  Mrs.  Deming  an  unconscious  excuse  for  re- 
lief. 

"  Of  all  the  inconsequent,  futile  beauty  men  I 
have  ever  seen,  recommend  me  to  Kenneth  Bige- 
low. To  think  of  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  having  such  a 
nephew ! " 

The  statesman  noted  her  flashing  eyes  and 
cheeks,  through  which  the  angry  blood  seemed 
about  to  burst,  with  inward  amusement. 

He  spoke  languidly.     "  Then  you  don't  think  , 
he'll  do  ?    You  don't  approve  my  choice !  " 

She  turned  on  him  like  a  tigress.  "  You  have 
made  your  choice?  How  could  you  forget  the 
man  who  has  sacrificed  his  life  to  you?  Haven't 
you  any  heart,  or  feeling,  or  appreciation  ?  " 

"  We  may  not  be  thinking  of  the  same  man, 
but  if  we  are  I  am  sure  that  any  lack  of  apprecia- 
101 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

tion  on  my  part  is  more  than  balanced  by  your 
own." 

Edith  Deming  bit  her  lips.  "  Oh,  I  know  I 
have  made  a  fool  of  myself — I  always  do.  I  am 
not  fit  to  carry  other  people's  secrets  when  I  can't 
keep  my  own.  Why  did  you  goad  me  as  you 
did?" 

"  To  convince  myself  finally  that  you  were 
what  I  have  always  suspected — the  most  indis- 
creet woman  of  my  acquaintance." 


102 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WAYS  OF  INNOCENCE. 

THE  ingenue  stood  at  the  mirror  with  a  hand- 
glass in  position.  She  was  en  negligee,  and 
above  the  laces  rose  a  neck  of  marble  whiteness. 
She  was  gazing  reflectively  at  a  dimple  near  her 
shoulder-blade.  "  If  any  other  woman  had  that," 
she  said  to  the  patient  Jane,  "  she  would  have  her 
dresses  cut  accordingly.  But  can  I?  Oh,  no, 
guimpes,  covered  yokes  and  everything  else  that 
fits  my  role !  It's  a  wonder  society  doesn't  decree 
that  the  debutante  shall  be  put  in  a  meal-sack 
and  have  it  tied  about  her  neck !  " 

Jane  stood  with  the  offending  dress  on  her  arm, 
ready  to  throw  it  over  the  blond  head. 

"It's  a  shame,"  she  continued,  "a  perfect 
103 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

shame !    There  isn't  a  neck  in  the  house  can  touch 
it,  and  what  good  does  it  do?  " 

She  counted  on  her  fingers.  "  Even  supposing 
that  I  accept  one  of  the  two  men  who  want  me — 
who  will  want  me,  I  mean — it  will  be  three 
solid  months  before  I  can  appear  in  decollete 
gowns.  Three  months  gone,  simply  gone  out  of 
my  life;  it's  a  sin! — what  Edith  Deming,  with 
her  sense  of  distinction,  would  call  a  beastly  out- 
rage." 

She  stood  like  a  stoic  while  Jane  buttoned  the 
corsage  carefully  up  the  back,  then  wriggled  her 
shoulders  with  her  head  thrown  backward. 
"  Not  a  glimpse  of  it,  not  a  glimpse;  that's  the 
worst  of  a  country  dressmaker.  Madame  Lance 
would  have  lessened  the  fullness  in  that  particular 
place  without  your  saying  a  word,  but  that  rustic 
idiot  has  actually  made  it  thicker  right  in  that 
spot;  you  couldn't  see  the  dimple  with  a  magnify- 
ing-glass.  Marry!  Mamma  needn't  worry.  I'd 
marry,  if  it  were  only  to  show  that  dimple  to  an 
unsuspecting  world." 

104 


Ways  of  Innocence. 

Five  minutes  later  she  knocked  timidly  at  Mrs. 
de  la  Mar's  door.  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  was  putting 
the  finishing  touches  to  a  toilette.  There  was 
no  lack  of  generosity  to  an  unsuspecting  world 
here,  and  shoulder-straps  alone  promised  immun- 
ity from  catastrophe. 

The  ingenue's  eyes  were  lowered.  "  Dear  Mrs. 
de  la  Mar,  do  you  think  this  dress  is  immodest? 
You  see,  the  lace  is  quite  transparent  and  I  feel 
a  little " 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  blushed,  actually  blushed,  as 
she  caught  her  own  reflection  in  the  glass  by  the 
side  of  the  tall,  slim  figure.  "  My  dear  child, 
what  a  notion!  Of  course  not!  Your  gown  is 
lovely  and  quite  correct;  it  is  all  very  well  for 
old  married  women  to  defy  proprieties;  we  have 
to  gain  attention  in  some  way,  but  you  young, 
beautiful  things  don't  need  to  do  anything — the 
simpler  your  toilettes  the  more  effective.  I  think 
your  mother  dresses  you  in  the  most  exquisite 
taste.  Oh,  our  white  muslin  days !  If  we  could 


105. 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

only  have  them  back !  I  envy  you  every  time  I 
see  you  in  one  of  those  gowns." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  it  is  too — too — what 
Edith  Deming  would  call  suggestive?  What 
does  she  mean  by  that  word,  anyway  ?  She  actu- 
ally butters  her  bread  with  it." 

"  Oh,  Edith  has  a  lot  of  words  that  don't  mean 
anything;  they  just  fill  in,  you  know.  You  can't 
expect  every  word  to  mean  something ;  that  would 
make  conversation  utterly  impossible;  the  mind 
must  have  some  rest." 

"  Yes,  I  presume  so.  Do  you  object  to  my 
watching  you?  " 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  did  not  relish  the  big  blue  eyes 
fixed  so  unflinchingly  on  her  mature  charms,  but 
she  nodded  assent. 

"  Tell  me,  dear  Mrs.  de  la  Mar — you  won't 
think  I  am  strange  to  ask  you  this  question,  but 
I  really  have  reasons,"  and  the  ingenue  sighed 
deeply,  "  for  coming  to  you  just  now.  Everyone 
says — and  by  everyone  I  mean  mamma  and  Edith 
Deming  and  one  or  two  more — that  you  married 
1 06 


Ways  of  Innocence. 

for  love.  Now,  if  you  had  a  daughter,  say,  like 
me,  would  you  advise  her  to  marry  for  love  ?  " 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  and  Mrs.  Deming  had  had  a 
conference  just  before  they  parted  to  dress  for 
dinner.  This  conference  had  concerned  the  in- 
genue. "  You  needn't  tell  me,"  said  Edith  Dem- 
ing,  "  that  she  is  as  innocent  as  she  looks.  I  have 
had  my  suspicions  for  a  long  time,  and  to-day  I 
told  a  story  before  her  on  purpose,  which  no  one 
at  her  age  and  with  her  appearance  should  have 
known  the  meaning  of.  I  blushed  when  I  told  it, 
and  she  blushed  when  she  heard  it,  but  I  found 
out  what  I  wanted  to — that  she  is  posing,  and 
posing  for  a  purpose.  That  girl  has  designs  on 
one  of  the  men  here — which  one  I  can't  tell,  the 
little  cat!  I  would  say  your  nephew,  if  it  were 
any  other  girl,  but  I  am  not  sure — she  is  just 
as  likely  to  have  her  eye  on  Claridge  Robertson, 
and  there  is  no  fool,  you  know,  like  an  old  fool. 
He  is  just  the  age  to  be  caught  by  that  type  of 
femininity." 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  had  not  been  entirely  easy  in 
107 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

her  mind  concerning  the  ingenue,  and  Mrs.  Dem- 
ing's  words  did  not  quiet  her  uneasiness.  She 
thought  quickly.  So  it  was  her  nephew,  after  all ; 
and  if  this  girl  should  succeed,  under  her  own 
roof,  too,  in  making  the  young  man  fall  in  love 
with  her,  his  career  was  ruined.  Had  not  Clar- 
idge  Robertson  expressly  said  that  he  would  fur- 
ther no  man's  political  aspirations  who  was  mar- 
ried under  forty?  The  blue  eyes  fixed  unflinch- 
ingly on  her  changing  countenance  demanded  that 
she  should  hide  as  much  as  possible  her  perturba- 
tion, unless  she  wished  to  play  directly  into  the 
waiting  hands. 

"  My  dear  Blanche,  I  will  talk  to  you  just  as 
if  I  were  indeed  your  mother.  As  one  who 
has  had  the  benefit  of  experience  and  of 
unlimited  observation,  I  should  say  that,  worldly 
as  it  must  sound  to  one  so  young  and 
— and  innocent — marriage  for  love  is  in  nine 
times  out  of  ten  a  failure.  Of  course  in  my  own 
case  there  have  been  compensations ;  but  even  so, 
there  is  much  that  I  cannot  tell,  which  might 
1 08 


Ways  of  Innocence. 

convince  if  I  could.  Love  is  the  most  unsatisfac- 
tory foundation  on  which  to  base  married  life. 
Respect,  admiration,  social  prestige — these  are  the 
things  that  satisfy  in  the  end."  Then  she 
thought :  "I'd  hate  to  have  her  marry  Claridge, 
but  if  it  must  be  one  of  the  two,  it  is  better  that 
he  should  be  the  victim." 

"  You  probably  won't  understand  me  now,  but 
you  will  sometime,  when  I  say  to  you  that  the 
truly  happy  woman  is  the  one  whose  husband 
stands  out  from  the  crowd,  and  brings  to  her, 
without  effort,  all  the  admiration,  honor  and 
emoluments  for  which  ninety-nine  women  out  of 
every  hundred  are  willing  to  sell  their  souls. 
Love,  my  dear,  is  a  Midsummer  madness,  re- 
pented of  as  soon  as  yielded  to."  To  herself,  she 
added :  "I  do  hope  I  am  making  this  strong 
enough." 

"  Then  you  don't  think — "  the  ingenue's  voice 

had  a  tone  of  pained  reproach — "  that  two  young 

people,    say,    like — well,  any  two  young  people 

could  be  happy  without  luxury  and  fame  and  posi- 

109 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

tion,  just  living  simple,  natural  lives,  away  some- 
where, by  themselves  ?  " 

"  Not  in  our  day  and  generation,  my  dear. 
That  is  a  dream  of  the  past.  We  are  born  with 
complex  needs,  and  the  older  we  get  the  more 
those  needs  dominate  us.  To-day  you  think  you 
could  be  happy  anywhere  with  the  man  you  loved 
and  who  loved  you,  but  in  five  years  you  would 
surely  discover  a  hundred  things  necessary  to 
your  happiness,  and  if  he  could  not  supply  those 
needs  you  would  find  your  love  changing  to  in- 
difference, and  indifference  to  positive  dislike. 
You  would  wake  from  your  dream  to  find  your- 
self tied  to  a  failure,  your  own  ambitions  fretting 
you  continually  like  those  of  a  caged  bird."  And 
again  she  thought :  "  I  am  actually  bursting  my 
dress  in  my  earnestness." 

"  But " — the  ingenue's  voice  had  a  ring  of 
hope — "  supposing  he  were  not  a  failure ;  suppos- 
ing your  love  and  companionship  and  all  that  were 
sufficient  to  stimulate  him,  and  he  reached  greater 


no 


Ways  of  Innocence. 

heights  because  of  you  than  he  ever  could  with- 
out?" 

"  Blanche !  "  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  cried.  Then  she 
checked  herself,  and  thought :  "  What  can  I  say 
to  influence  her?  What  an  awful  thing  to  have 
happen  just  now !  " 

She  stopped  dressing  and  walked  nearer  the 
girl,  whose  eyes  were  downcast. 

"  That  is  the  rock  on  which  many  a  young 
woman  before  you  has  rent  her  life-boat.  It  is 
like  marrying  a  drunkard  to  reform  him.  No,  a 
woman  never  really  makes  a  man,  nor  really  in- 
fluences him ;  that  is  one  of  the  illusions  of  poetry 
and  romance.  In  real  life  a  man  makes  himself. 
There  is  one  thing  she  can  do,  however;  she  can 
drag  him  down  and  back.  She  can  hang  about 
his  neck  and  suffocate  him  with  her  weight;  she 
can  meet  him  when  opportunity  beckons,  and  turn 
him  from  the  path  he  should  follow." 

There  were  real  tears  in  Mrs.  de  la  Mar's  eyes. 
She  dabbed  her  face  with  some  cobwebby  lace  and 
then  retouched  the  very  tip  of  her  nose  with  rice 
in 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

powder.  At  this  second  application  of  the  pow- 
der she  realized  the  necessity  for  restraint.  Her 
tones  were  more  subdued  when  she  continued. 

"  Blanche,  you  have  come  to  me  in  a  moment 
of  need.  You  are  at  the  parting  of  ways — 
it  is  always  the  crucial  time  in  a  girl's  life  when 
she  has  to  make  her  own  choice — and  abide  by  it 
forever.  And  there  is  nearly  always  in  a  woman's 
life  this  choice — it  is  like  a  man's  selection  of 
professions,  only  with  the  woman  she  has  but  the 
alternatives  of  love  or  ambition,  and,  unlike  the 
man,  she  cannot  retrace  the  step  once  taken.  Lis- 
ten !  Give  up  this  dream  of  yours.  You  are  beau- 
tiful, young  and  attractive ;  with  that  capital  you 
can  have  everything  worth  while;  don't  sacrifice 
it  for  foolish  sentiment.  Take  the  advice  of  a 
woman  who  has  seen  all  sides  of  life;  who  is,  of 
course,  perfectly  unprejudiced " 

"  Of  course,"  murmured  the  ingenue. 

" — perfectly  unprejudiced  in  this  matter,  and 
who,  if  you  were  her  own  daughter,  would  say 
to  you  that  in  the  long  run — in  the  long  run, 
112 


Ways  of  Innocence. 

mind  you,  for  I  do  not  deny  that  she  would  miss 
something  on  the  way,  as  the  fatal  mark  of  im- 
perfection is  on  everything — a  woman  will  be 
happier  and  look  back  in  middle  age,  thankful 
that  she  had  not  been  allured  by  such  a  will-o'- 
the-wisp.  I  can't  point  out  to  you  in  all  my  ac- 
quaintance one  marriage  founded  on  pure  love 
that  has  proved  a  success,  and  I  can  show  you 
hundreds  of  the  other  kind  that  are  models." 

There  was  a  silence;  then  the  ingenue  arose. 
"  I  thank  you  for  advising  me.  You  see,  I  de- 
pend on  poor  mamma  so  much,  and  when  we  are 
separated " 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  stroked  her  face,  and  tried  to 
read  there  if  her  arguments  had  availed.  "  Think 
of  what  I  have  said,  dear;  it  comes  from  the 
heart." 

"  I  am  sure  it  does,"  said  the  ingenue,  softly, 
as  she  closed  the  door. 

After  she  had  gone  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  sank  back 
into  a  chair,  completely  unnerved.  "  This  is  so 
sudden!  Of  course  she  means  Kenneth.  I  am 

"3 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

sure  nothing  has  happened  yet,  but  it  may  at  any 
moment.  And  he  has  had  absolutely  no  exper- 
ience. The  first  affair  is  always  serious  with  a 
man — always  means  matrimony.  I  believe  every- 
thing Edith  says  is  true:  she  came  with  a  pur- 
pose. What  can  I  do?  I  can't  send  her  home; 
she  was  clever  enough  to  get  here ;  she  would  stay 
in  spite  of  me.  At  least  I  can  keep  her  from 
tete-a-tetes  with  Kenneth;  that  much  I  will  do." 

Mrs.  Deming  was  arranging  a  loosened  curl. 

"  Come  in,"  she  called,  curtly,  in  response  to  a 
gentle  knock. 

The  ingenue  stood  there,  and  after  a  moment's 
scrutiny  of  the  room  and  its  occupant,  walked  in 
and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Deming,  how  lovely  you  look ! 
Your  maid  isn't  here.  Shall  I  hook  your  dress 
for  you  ?  " 

"  It  is  already  hooked,  thank  you." 

"  Oh,  really !  I  thought — but  you  have  such 
lovely  shoulders !  Do  you  think  my  gown  is  im- 
114 


Ways  of  Innocence. 

modest?    You  see,  the  lining  is  cut  out  and  the 
lace  is  very  thin." 

"  If  it  were  as  low  as  you  would  like  it  to  be, 
it  would  be  immodest;  as  it  is,  I  think  you  need 
not  lose  any  sleep." 

"  Mrs.  Deming,  you  don't  like  me." 

"  Not  at  all — I  hate  insincerity." 

"  Why  do  you  think  me  insincere?  " 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  what  business  had  you 
to  know  what  I  meant  by  that  story  I  told  to- 
day?" 

"  What  story  ? — oh,  that  one  on  the  veranda  ? 
Why,  my  dear  Mrs.  Deming,  your  voice  would 
have  given  it  away  to  a  lap-dog.  A  woman  never 
uses  that  tone  unless  she  is  saying  something  she 
ought  not  to " 

Mrs.  Deming  moved,  impatiently.  "  Oh,  well, 
we  won't  discuss  the  matter.  What's  the  use? 
Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?  Have  you 
forgotten  your  handkerchief?  There  are  a  lot 
in  that  box." 

"  It  is  more  serious  than  that." 
"5 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  We  have  only  ten  minutes 
before  the  dinner  hour." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I  just  felt  as  if  I  couldn't  eat 
my  dinner  until  I  had  asked  you " 

"What?" 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Deming,  don't  make  it  hard  for  me. 
You  are  so  unsympathetic,  and  I  want  your  advice 
because  I  know  if  you  don't  like  me,  perhaps  for 
that  very  reason,  you  will  tell  me  things  just  as 
they  are — you  always  do  that,  I  know." 

The  interview  with  the  Honorable  Claridge 
Robertson  was  too  fresh  in  Mrs.  Deming's  mind 
for  her  to  bear  this  insinuation  meekly.  "  Well,  I 
am  sure  to  do  that.  You  had  better  be  careful. 
You  probably  won't  like  it." 

The  ingenue  sank  down  on  a  low  stool  and  had 
Mrs.  Deming  at  a  decided  disadvantage.  "  Tell 
me,"  she  murmured,  from  her  humble  seat;  "do 
you  think  it  is  possible,  just  possible,  for  a  young 
girl — well,  say  like  me — to  be  happy  in  a  mar- 
riage where  she  does  not  love  ?  " 

"  It  is  just  as  I  told  Louise,"  thought  Mrs. 
116 


Ways  of  Innocence. 

Deming  as  she  looked  triumphantly  at  her  reflec- 
tion in  the  glass.  "  She  is  going  to  trap  the  old 
man.  She  sha'n't  have  him;  it  will  ruin  every- 
thing. If  she's  to  get  a  husband,  it  would  much 
better  be  that  pink-cheeked  nephew.  I  feel  sorry 
for  Louise,  but  I  can't  have  Robertson  twisted 
around  her  little  ringers — that  means  good-bye 
to  all  my  plans.  So,  it  really  is  Robertson.  I 
didn't  believe  she  was  quite  so  heartless — at  her 
age  to  have  such  an  ambition !  "  Then,  aloud : 
"  You  want  me  to  tell  you  exactly  what  I  think  ?  " 

"  That  is  why  I  am  here ;  without  mamma,  you 
know,  I  am  all  at  sea,  and  there  are  reasons " 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  tell  me  the  reasons ;  I  can 
guess  some  of  them." 

"  Please  don't,  Mrs.  Deming." 

"  Very  well.  For  a  woman  like  you — are  go- 
ing to  be,  there  is  nothing  like  le  manage 
d 'amour.  In  fact,  it  is  your  only  safety.  Noth- 
ing but  that  can  help  you." 

"  Help  me— from  what?  " 

"  From  yourself.  You  have  a  withered  soul. 
117 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

It  needs  a  great  passion,  with  all  the  sacrifices 
and  delights  that  are  implied  in  the  term,  to 
rejuvenate  it." 

"  A  withered  soul — what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  your  soul  was  born  a  thousand 
years  before  your  body.  How  they  got  together 
I  don't  know — I  am  not  psychologic.  You  are 
uncanny.  I  always  feel  my  flesh  creep  when  you 
come  near  me." 

"  You  are  not  very  complimentary." 

"  You  asked  me  for  the  truth ;  I  have  told 
you." 

"  But  why,  Mrs.  Deming,  why  wouldn't  ambi- 
tion accomplish  this,  supposing  your  idea  is  cor- 
rect? Isn't  ambition  a  great  passion,  too,  and 
doesn't  that  have  its  sacrifices  and  its  delights?  " 

"  With  a  difference.  Ambition  is  the  passion 
of  men;  love,  the  passion  of  God.  There  is  as 
much  difference  as  there  is  between  the  atmos- 
phere of  a  crowded  street  and  that  of  an  empty 
cathedral." 

"  But  mamma  and  my  guardian  and  everyone 
118 


Ways  of  Innocence. 

else  urge  me  to  marry  for  money  or  social  posi- 
tion, to  look  out  for  the  main  chance,  to  settle  my- 
self well." 

"  They  are  all  mistaken.  I  married  for  that, 
and  can  speak  from  experience.  Ambition ! " 
and  Edith  Deming  gave  her  shoulders  an  impa- 
tient toss.  "  Do  you  know  what  that  means  ?  It 
is  to  give  your  life  and  strength  and  happiness 
for  husks;  to  get  what  you  want  after  you  have 
lost  the  power  to  enjoy  it;  to  pass  by  the  real  for 
the  shadow;  to  nurture  something  gentle  and  ca- 
ressing in  your  arms,  which  grows  suddenly  and 
strangles  you  with  its  weight  and  power.  Am- 
bition— it  is  the  sin  of  the  fallen  angels.  To  think 
that  a  girl  like  you,  at  the  most  adorable  period 
of  life,  facing  possibilities  of  happiness  of  which 
you,  with  all  your  mature  insight,  cannot  have 
dreamed,  should  hesitate — even  for  a  second !  If 
I  had  your  chance — or  my  own  over  again !  " 

"  But  don't  you  believe,"  the  ingenue  persisted, 
"  that  if  you  married  the  man  you  loved,  and  he 
was  young  and  poor  and  your  marrying  him 
119 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

hampered  his  career,  after  a  while  you  would  get 
to  hate  each  other?  He  would  blame  you  for 
that,  and  you  would  want  things  he  couldn't  give 
you." 

"  Not  if  you  loved  each  other  in  the  begin- 
ning; no  sacrifice  could  alienate  you.  It  would 
bring  you  closer  together,  and,  after  a  while,  you 
would  learn  that  all  the  things  you  thought  of 
so  much  importance  really  are  not.  You  would 
learn  the  lesson,  anyway ;  better  learn  it  together. 
We  don't  need  very  much  in  this  life,  if  we  have 
the  supreme  thing." 

"  Then  you  think,  to  continue  your  quotation, 
that  I  should  fling  away  ambition  ?  " 

"  Decidedly.  I  would  say  that  to  any  young 
girl — to  you,  most  of  all;  for  only  in  love  can 
you  find  all  you  have  missed — illusions,  dreams, 
the  ecstasy  of  selflessness  and  the  joy  of  youth. 
You  have  been  deprived  of  all  that.  It  is  your 
opportunity  to  regain  it." 

Edith  wondered,  in  the  pause  that  ensued,  if 
her  words  had  carried  conviction. 
120 


Ways  of  Innocence. 

A  moment  later  the  ingenue  turned  at  the  door 
to  say :  "  You  accuse  me,  Mrs.  Deming,  of  pos- 
ing. Don't  you  think  it  a  sort  of  affectation  for 
a  woman  in  an  adorable  gown  of  white  satin,  with 
duchesse-lace  flounces  twelve  inches  deep,  and 
with  her  corsage  covered  with  diamonds,  to  tell 
a  young  girl  to  marry  for  love?  " 

She  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

If  looks  could  slay,  the  ingenue  would  have 
tumbled  outside.  As  it  was,  she  continued  her 
way,  smilingly.  "  Thank  goodness,"  she  mur- 
mured, softly,  "  that's  all  settled.  Mrs.  Dem- 
ing  will  give  me  every  possible  chance  to  have 
a  tete-a-tete  with  Kenneth,  and  Mrs.  de  la  Mar 
with  Claridge.  I've  been  balked  long  enough." 

Edith  Deming  only  glared  after  the  retreating 
figure  for  a  moment;  then  her  face  assumed  its 
natural  expression.  "  After  all,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  I  don't  blame  her.  We  live  in  an  age  where 
it  is  impossible  to  convince  by  words,  and  our 
actions  are  entirely  incongruous.  But  could  she 
only  know — "  she  caught  just  then  the  reflection 
121 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

of  her  many  gems — "  if  I  could  only  assure  her 
that  if  tears  could  dim  their  light,  they  would  be 
like  the  ashes  in  the  grate,  I  might  save  her.  My 
duty  is  plain.  I  must  keep  her  away  from  Clar- 
idge  Robertson — that  is  evident.  I  shall  not  be 
entirely  selfish  in  the  matter,  either,  for  I  believe 
just  'what  I  told  her,  that  she  may  be  saved 
through  love,  and  in  that  way  only." 

There  was  a  new  guest  at  dinner  that  night. 
By  the  late  train  John  Townsend  came,  with  a 
lot  of  private  letters  and  certain  information  con- 
cerning a  great  political  mission  which,  it  was 
rumored,  was  to  be  conferred  on  his  chief.  They 
were  closeted  a  long  time,  while  Claridge  Robert- 
son listened  to  these  vague  reports,  pooh-poohing 
them  with  the  air  of  a  statesman  who  may  mean 
much  or  little  by  his  attitude  of  laughing  dis- 
sent. 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  treated  the  young  man  cordial- 
ly, and  overruled  his  faint  protests.  "  It  is  the 
week-end,  and  surely  you  won't  have  to  go  back 

122 


Ways  of  Innocence. 

to  town  to-morrow;  at  least  spend  the  Sunday 
with  us."  Her  invitation  was  seconded  by  her  hus- 
band and  by  Claridge  Robertson,  who  looked  at 
his  secretary  with  a  new  interest,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  treated  him  with  the  respect 
a  man  shows  to  one  who  has  suddenly  exhibited 
unexpected  qualities,  be  they  good  or  bad,  to  his 
own  advantage  or  against  it. 


123 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  DIARY  AND  A  GARDEN. 

THE  moon  of  Midsummer  hung  alluringly  over 
the  tree-tops.  The  air  was  still — so  still  that 
it  awed.  The  moon  glade  invited,  as  if  at  the 
end  of  its  silvery  perspective  might  be  the  fairy- 
land of  childhood,  which  each  grown-up  heart  re- 
calls with  sadness  as  one  of  the  mysteries  of  life 
that  has  never  been  dispelled.  It  was  Nature's 
masquerade;  everything  was  in  glamour.  The 
day,  with  its  pitiless  verities,  was  still  far  distant, 
and  the  spell  of  the  unusual  dominated  every 
heart. 

On  the  wide  porch  the  party  of  six — for  Mr. 

de  la  Mar,  according  to  habit,  had  withdrawn  to 

the  library — were  silent,  subdued  by  the  beauty  of 

the  scene.    Occasionally  a  voice  would  penetrate 

124 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

the  stillness,  but  a  continued  or  general  conver- 
sation seemed  so  inharmonious  that  no  one  at- 
tempted it. 

Finally  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  arose.  The  fear  and 
tumult  in  her  heart  oppressed  so  that  she  could 
endure  the  restraint  no  longer.  "  Come  with  me, 
Kenneth,"  she  said  to  her  nephew.  "  Let  us  walk 
and  talk." 

She  looked  about,  secure  in  the  knowledge  that, 
whatever  happened,  she  had  saved  him,  for  this 
night  at  least,  from  the  catastrophe  that  threat- 
ened. 

The  quartette  left  behind  did  not  move  or  seek 
to  follow.  The  ingenue  was  sitting  so  that  her 
profile,  outlined  by  the  heavenly  light,  might  have 
served  an  artist  for  one  of  the  seraphim,  the  Angel 
of  the  Tomb,  or  a  Saint  Cecilia.  The  states- 
man was  a  prey  to  disquieting  thoughts.  Mrs. 
Deming  was  torn  by  conflicting  desires.  Already 
the  resolution  formed  in  her  room  before  dinner 
was  melting  away.  Why  should  she  lose  these 
silver  moments?  The  ingenue  would  probably 
125 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

outwit  her  in  the  end  anyhow,  and  then  she  would 
have  gained  nothing.  She  might  never  have  such 
an  opportunity  again ;  it  was  seldom  that  "  the 
time  and  the  place  and  the  loved  one  "  were  all 
together.  There  was  great  danger,  it  is  true,  in 
leaving  the  statesman  and  the  ingenue  alone  at 
such  a  time,  but  she  had  never  yet  allowed  pur- 
pose to  control  inclination,  and  it  was  too  late  to 
t)egin.  She  fought  the  battle  for  a  while  bravely, 
then  turned  of  a  sudden  to  John  Townsend. 
"  You  have  never  seen  the  rose  garden ;  it  must 
be  glorious  in  this  light;  let  me  show  it  to 
you." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  acquiesce,  yet 
Townsend  hesitated ;  there  was  danger  in  her  tone, 
and  the  other  two  did  not  help  his  quandary. 
The  statesman,  after  a  quick  look  of  appreciation, 
gone  almost  as  it  flashed  on  them,  relapsed  into 
liis  reverie,  and  the  ingenue  had,  apparently,  not 
heard  and  had  no  wish  to  hear.  Townsend  rose, 
straightened  the  stoop  in  his  shoulders,  and  made 
a  last  protest  against  the  inevitable. 
126 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

"  Can't  we  induce  you  to  join  us?  "  He  spoke 
directly  to  the  ingenue. 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  I  think  I  will  stay  here. 
I  do  not  believe  I  could  endure  the  rose  garden; 
it  must  be  too  beautiful,  and  it  would  hurt  me. 
I  can't  stand  too  much  pain  or  too  much  joy." 
Her  eyes  were  following  the  two  shadows  moving 
far  off  amid  the  trees,  and  Edith  Deming  noted 
the  glance. 

"  I  believe  she  really  is  in  love  with  Kenneth 
Bigelow,"  was  her  mental  comment,  and  I  guess 
it  is  all  right.  Then  she  turned  to  John  Town- 
send.  "  Come."  There  was,  for  the  first  and 
only  time,  an  undercurrent  of  command  in  her 
voice,  and  with  head  bent  he  followed  her  down 
the  steps  and  around  the  corner  of  the  house  to 
the  path  of  roses. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then  the  states- 
man woke  to  the  knowledge  that  he  was  alone 
with  the  ingenue.  He  looked  at  her,  abashed. 
What  could  he  say  to  such  an  unsullied  soul? 
Precedents  were  at  fault,  for  it  was  long  since 
127 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

he  had  come  closely  in  touch  with  one  so  inex- 
perienced and  so  unmoved  by  the  merely  earthly. 
What  did  one  talk  about  to  embodied  spirits? 
Was  there  anything  in  his  past  that  would  lead 
him  to  suppose  for  one  moment  that  he  could  in- 
terest a  creature  like  the  one  before  him,  who 
looked  as  if,  at  an  unwary  word  or  glance,  she 
might  melt  away  into  the  silvery  sheen  and  dis- 
appear forever  from  mortal  ken? 

The  ingenue  helped  his  embarrassment  by 
speaking  first. 

"  Tell  me,  dear  statesman — "  she  had  borrowed 
Mrs.  de  la  Mar's  favorite  mode  of  address — "  why 
have  you  never  married?  " 

The  statesman  felt  his  feet  touch  terra  firma 
once  more,  and  breathed  deeply.  "  Why  have  I 
never  married  ?  "  Sure  enough,  why  had  he  not  ? 
He  struggled  for  an  answer  that  would  satisfy 
her. 

"  I  had  a  dream  once,"  he  began,  hesitatingly ; 
"  it  was  only  a  boyish  dream,  gone  almost  as  soon 
as  experienced,  and  since  then  I  have  fought  bat- 
128 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

ties,  strenuous  battles.  I  could  not  ask  any 
woman  to  stand  by  my  side  in  the  rush  and  roar 
of  those  days,  and  now  it  is  too  late." 

"Too  late?"  The  tone  of  the  ingenue  left 
nothing  to  be  desired.  Separated  into  its  com- 
ponent elements  there  was  a  mixture,  one-third 
interest,  one-third  sympathy  and  one-third  provo- 
cation. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  too  old  now." 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  too  old.  You  seem  to  me,  in 
some  ways,  younger  than  any  of  us." 

"  Not  younger  than  you,  my  dear,"  and  the 
statesman's  hand  rested  on  the  slim  fingers  which 
were,  in  some  way,  very  near  at  this  crucial  mo- 
ment; "not  younger  than  you.  You  are  out  of 
place  with  us  here;  we  are  so  worldly  and  so — 
inflexible;  yes,  inflexible." 

"  Are  you  inflexible?  " 

"  I  have  believed  myself  so." 

The  ingenue  noted  the  use  of  the  past  tense 
with  satisfaction.  She  smiled  engagingly  into 


129 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

his  face.      "  How    do  you  people  who  believe 
themselves  inflexible  become  flexible?" 

The  statesman  permitted  himself  a  gentle  pres- 
sure of  the  fingers,  which  were  not  withdrawn. 
"  I  presume,"  he  answered,  "  that  some  woman's 
influence  does  it.  I  don't  know  any  other  way." 

"  And  you — like  to  be  inflexible?  " 

"  I  have  never  thought  about  it.  It  has  simply 
been  the  natural  effect  of  certain  causes.  One 
can't  change  general  laws,  you  know,  for  particu- 
lar cases." 

The  ingenue,  to  all  outward  seeming,  felt  the 
irritation  of  a  refractory  curl,  and  disengaged  her 
hand  to  arrange  it.  The  statesman  waited,  and 
in  a  moment  the  hand  returned  to  its  place. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  me  old,"  she  said,  sweetly, 
and  her  face  in  the  moonlight  was  lineless  as  an 
infant's,  and  with  the  infant's  bloom  on  cheek 
and  brow.  "  You  seem  to  me  like  one  who  had 
gained  wisdom  and  could  help  those  who  were  un- 
certain and  weak  and  without  anyone — like  peo- 
ple usually  have,  you  know." 
130 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

"  Are  you  weak  and  uncertain  and — without 
anyone  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  and  there  was  an  accompanying  sigh, 
"  My  guardian  is  grumpy  and  mamma  doesn't 
understand  me." 

A  half-hour  before  the  statesman  had  looked  at 
her,  reclining  with  the  halo  of  divinity  about  her 
brows,  and  had  longed  for  her  in  his  life,  as  a 
father  longs  for  a  daughter  that  has  been  denied 
him.  Now  there  was  something  different  in  his 
expression;  she  and  the  moonlight  together  had 
succeeded  in  annihilating  age,  and  he  was  only 
conscious  that  she  was  a  very  pretty  woman,  who 
had  succeeded  in  setting  his  mind  and  soul  in  a 
turmoil. 

"  I  should  like  to  help  you,"  and  the  pressure 
of  interlacing  fingers  became  still  more  emphatic, 
"  but  a  man  can't  help  a  woman  unless " 

"Unless?" 

He  wondered  if  he  had  gone  too  far.  He  did 
not  wish  to  frighten  her;  he  himself  hardly  knew 
what  he  desired;  but  it  was  very  evident  that  a 
331 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

hope,  a  resistless  hope,  a  dream,  different  from 
the  boy's  dream  as  the  man's  life  is  different  from 
the  boy's  life,  was  enveloping  him  in  its  power. 

The  ingenue  had  timed  her  provocations  well. 
She  had  no  wish  to  bring  matters  to  a  finality. 
The  two  shadows  she  had  been  watching  were 
coming  nearer,  nearer.  The  statesman  was  un- 
conscious of  them,  for  he  was  sitting  with  his 
back  to  the  steps. 

"Unless?"  the  ingenue  repeated,  insistingly. 

Love  makes  cowards  of  us  all.  The  states- 
man, true  to  the  diplomatic  instinct,  which  for- 
bade him  to  make  a  decisive  move  until  he  was 
sure  of  his  ground,  temporized  a  little. 

"  Do  you  think  a  woman  could  care  for  such 
a  battered  wreck  as  I  am?  " 

"  I  am  sure — "  the  steps  were  very  close  now 
— "  I  am  sure,"  and  she  lowered  her  voice  so  that 
only  he  could  hear,  "  that  any  woman  would  be 
proud." 

The  voice  of  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  interrupted. 
"Did  you  miss  us?  The  garden  was  so  beauti- 
132 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

ful  that  we  forgot  our  duties."  She  looked  about 
with  surprise.  "  Why,  where  are  Edith  and  Mr. 
Townsend?  "  She  sank  into  a  chair,  and  before 
the  question  could  be  answered,  the  ingenue 
turned  quickly  to  the  young  man. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Bigelow,  what  do  you  think  ?  I  lost 
my  diary.  Will  you  come  with  me  to  find  it? 
It's  awfully  foolish  to  keep  a  diary,  but  it's  much 
more  foolish  to  lose  it." 

It  was  all  done  so  quickly  that  before  Mrs.  de 
la  Mar  could  finish  her  gasp  they  were  out  of 
sight.  The  statesman  did  not  give  her  time  for 
another. 

"  Louise  " — his  eyes  were  following  the  tall, 
slim  figure  in  its  clinging  white — "  you  know  a 
man  is  something  like  a  family  horse.  The  brute 
goes  along  year  after  year  and  everyone  gets 
used  to  him,  knows  his  gait  and  his  limitations 
and  his  security.  Then,  one  day,  without  warn- 
ing or  reason,  he  takes  the  bit  in  his  teeth  and 
crashes  through  every  obstacle,  has  a  kind  of 
second  wind,  you  see,  which  no  one  can  account 
133 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

for.  I  have  taken  the  bit  in  my  teeth."  He  was 
still  looking  in  the  direction  the  young  couple 
had  taken. 

"You  mean ?" 

She  knew  what  he  meant,  but  was  trying  to  re- 
arrange accustomed  ideas  to  a  new  basis. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  marrying.  I  am  tired  and 
lonely,  and  I  begin  to  feel  that  I  have  missed  the 
best  of  life." 

Unselfish  as  a  woman  may  be  in  her  general 
relations,  she  is  never  so  unselfish  as  not  to  be 
pleased  when  she  knows  a  man  has  refused  to 
replace  her  image  with  that  of  another.  Mrs. 
de  la  Mar  did  not  really  flatter  herself  that 
their  early  love-affair  had  been  the  controlling 
cause  of  the  statesman's  single  life,  but  she  knew 
others  thought  so,  and  she  accepted  this  pleasing 
tribute  to  feminine  vanity.  In  consequence,  her 
feelings  were  mixed.  She  was  to  lose  much,  but 
at  least  Kenneth  might  be  saved.  But  would  he 
be,  or  was  this  a  new  complication  ?  If  Kenneth 
antagonized  the  statesman,  if  he  were  suspected 
134 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

of  rivalry,  all  would  be  over,  and  the  hope  she  had 
cherished  for  years,  which  had  become  so  insist- 
ent that  it  dominated  her  life,  would  be  destroyed. 
She  lost  herself  in  a  tangled  maze  of  thought. 

"  She  is  very  young,"  she  said  at  last,  hesita- 
tingly. 

"  But  a  girl  becomes  a  woman  in  a  day,  a  mo- 
ment; it  is  as  quick  as  the  transition  from  life  to 
death,  and  as  irrevocable.  I  can  give  her  much 
that  a  younger  man  could  not,  and  I  would  require 
less.  It  is  a  fair  exchange,  is  it  not  ?  " 

About  the  big  hall  wandered  the  two.  The  in- 
genue's search,  to  an  observant  glance,  would  not 
have  suggested  an  intense  desire  to  discover  a 
missing  article.  But  Kenneth,  unsuspecting, 
went  to  the  length  of  getting  on  his  knees  to  look 
in  impossible  places.  The  ingenue  turned  sud- 
denly to  find  him  crouched  in  a  supplicating  at- 
titude to  gaze  under  an  octagonal  cabinet,  whose 
short  supports  were  but  a  couple  of  inches  from 
the  ground. 

135 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

"  Of  course  it  isn't  there ;  how  absurd !  Do 
you  suppose  I  fold  up  like  a  rubber-band  and 
crawl  into  places  like  that  when  I  make  my  con- 
fessions? " 

"  I  didn't  know ;  things  are  so  unfeeling  when 
they  get  lost.  They  don't  seem  to  care  where 
they  go." 

"  Have  you  looked  on  the  wicker  couch  ? — it 
might  be  there.  I  know  I  had  it  just  after  you 
left  me  this  afternoon.  I  remember  that,  dis- 
tinctly." She  was  standing  at  the  further  end  of 
the  hall  in  the  moon-lighted  embrasure  of  the  bay- 
window. 

The  couch  was  near  the  lamp,  and  as  Kenneth 
displaced  the  silk  cushions  hurriedly,  sure  enough, 
between  two  of  them  was  the  diary,  open,  its 
white  pages  disclosing  to  his  quick  eye  a  few 
words  written  legibly.  He  could  not  have  avoided 
reading  them. 

"  Have  you  found  it  ?  "  The  voice  that  reached 
him  was  very  alluring. 

He  advanced  toward  her.  The  color  had 
136 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

flooded  his  face,  as  if  his  body  were  trying  to  ex- 
press his  confusion;  he  was  opening  and  closing: 
the  silver  clasp.  He  placed  the  book  in  her  hand. 

"  Thank  you  so  much."  Then,  with  a  glance 
at  his  face :  "  You  have  read  it !  How  could 
you  ?  I  trusted  you ;  I  didn't  think  you  were  that 
sort " 

"  I  couldn't  help  it ;  it  was  open,  and  I  looked 
at  it  before  I  knew." 

The  attitude  of  Kenneth  Bigelow  toward 
women  had  been  that  of  the  young  man  who  has 
in  him  an  innate  sex-repulsion  as  to  the  feminine. 
He  had  suffered  them  in  his  life,  and  that  was  all. 
He  deserved  no  praise  for  this,  for  it  was  the  out- 
come of  physical  recoils,  which  are  often  allied 
to  sensitive  souls.  He  had  met  the  invitations 
of  generous  smiles,  clasped  hands  and  insinuating" 
words,  with  a  frigid  reserve  of  sentiment  and  a 
corresponding  gallantry  of  manner  that  provoked 
while  it  pleased.  No  woman  believed  in  that  in- 
difference to  her  sex  which  she  was  forced  to 
admit  in  the  specific  case  of  her  own  personality. 
137 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

Rumor,  in  lieu  of  facts  on  which  to  build  its  sky- 
scraper of  imagination,  based  his  attitude  on  a 
series  of  adventures  that  would  have  made  Don 
'Juan  run  a  close  race  with  Sir  Galahad  for  place 
in  the  gallery  of  the  immortals.  That  these  al- 
leged adventures  were  as  far  removed  from  the 
events  of  his  real  life  as  those  of  the  typical  man 
about  town  are  from  the  anchorite's,  made  no 
difference  to  the  people  who  listened  and  re- 
peated. As  his  aunt  had  asserted  in  her  soliloquy 
after  the  ingenue  had  implanted  fear  in  her  heart, 
he  had  been  without  the  experience  of  a  youth- 
ful love-affair,  and  was  bound  to  take  the  first  one 
seriously. 

He  was  not  timid  if  he  was  inexperienced,  and 
after  the  initial  seconds  of  bewilderment,  he  woke 
to  the  knowledge  that  he  could  understand  for  the 
first  time  why  men  made  fools  of  themselves  over 
women.  After  this  knowledge  had  penetrated 
his  mind,  it  was  followed  by  the  conclusion  that 
he  saw  no  adequate  reason  why  he  should  exclude 
himself  from  so  general  a  classification. 
138 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

"  Don't,"  said  the  ingenue,  after  a  moment. 

"  Well,  you  certainly  expected  it,  or  you 
wouldn't  have  written  that  I  had  never  kissed 
you." 

"  But  I  did  not  think  you  would  see  it." 

He  really  believed  this. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  after  a  few  moments,  as 
they  stood  close  together  in  the  window,  "  shall 
we  tell  them  now  or ?  " 

"Tell  them  what?" 

"  That  we  are  going  to  be  married."  As  Mrs. 
de  la  Mar  had  prophesied,  Kenneth  was  taking 
this  first  affair  very  seriously. 

"  Going  to  be — married!  Oh,  I  didn't  think! 
I  didn't  think!" 

"  Think  what,  sweetheart  ?  Of  course  you 
know  when  a  man  and  woman  love  each  other  that 
is  what  it  means.  Don't  be  frightened." 

"  But  mamma  and  my  guardian !  I  am  so 
afraid  of  them,  I  don't  dare  promise  until 
they  have  given  their  consent.  Oh,  what  shall  I 
do?" 

139 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

She  clung  to  him  in  a  spasm  of  assumed  fear,  and 
he  soothed  her. 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be  well,  if  you  feel  that  way, 
to  keep  it  to  ourselves  for  a  little  while,  until  I 
can  come  to  your  home  and  ask  in  the  conven- 
tional manner.  There  can  be  no  objection." 

"  And  you  won't  tell  anybody — not  breathe  it 
to  a  soul  ?  not  to  your  aunt  or  to  Mr.  Robertson, 
or  to  anybody  ?  " 

"  I  promise  you  that  I  will  not  breathe  it  to  a 
soul  until  you  give  me  permission." 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar's  voice  called  from  the  door- 
way, "  Haven't  you  found  your  book  yet,  dear  ?  " 

There  was  a  second's  delay,  just  long  enough 
for  the  whispered  request.  "  Meet  me  in  the  rose 
garden  at  six  to-morrow  morning,"  and  an  ac- 
quiescence ;  then  the  ingenue  spoke  aloud : 

"  We  have  just  found  it  under  the  cushions." 

She  went  forward,  while  Kenneth,  overcome 

with  the  stress  of  emotions,  escaped  through  the 

window   and   walked   rapidly   toward   a   distant 

bench  under  a  spreading  elm,  on  which  he  threw 

140 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

himself  face  down,  his  arms  clasped  under  his 
head. 

The  hot  blood  of  youth  coursed  in  his  veins. 
It  had  come  so  quickly,  so  unexpectedly.  He  had 
suffered  none  of  the  agonies  of  doubt,  wonder, 
exaltation  and  dread.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been 
walking  blindfold  through  life,  content  with  his 
lot,  and  suddenly  the  bandage  had  been  removed. 
The  light,  the  light  of  love,  hurt  his  sight;  it  was 
too  splendid,  too  overpowering !  He  felt  as  if  he 
must  stay  in  the  darkness,  close  his  eyes  again  and 
again,  and  accustom  himself  by  degrees  to  the 
dazzling  radiance  that  was  hereafter  to  beat  about 
his  path.  His  career!  An  hour  ago  it  had 
seemed  the  only  thing  worth  while.  Now  it  was 
forgotten  while  he  lost  himself  in  dreams. 

He  had  been  unhappy  of  late,  though  he  had 
concealed  his  feelings  under  a  careless  demeanor. 
The  days,  which  to  others  were  apparently  only 
ordinary  hours,  were  to  him  the  crucial  ones  of 
his  life;  he  was  hurt  by  the  criticism  to  which  he 
felt  himself  subjected,  haunted  by  the  fear  that  if 
141 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

he  failed  in  convincing  the  statesman  of  his  fitness 
he  would  be  doomed  to  a  career  he  abhorred, 
knowing  that  whichever  path  he  chose  someone 
would  be  hurt.  He  seemed  to  himself  neither 
youth  nor  man,  incapable  of  finding  happiness  in 
what  he  had  once  enjoyed,  and  shut  off  from  the 
full  joys  of  maturity.  He  suffered  as  a  man  suf- 
fers but  once,  in  the  first  blind  struggle  with 
fate.  Now  all  was  changed.  There  was  some- 
one who  needed  him,  who  was  young  and  weak 
— and  his  own.  He  had  another  to  fight  for,  and 
he  felt  new  courage  and  hope. 

The  ingenue  said  good  night  on  the  porch. 
"  Do  you  think,"  she  asked,  irrelevantly,  of  Mrs. 
de  la  Mar,  "  that  I  have  grown  thin  ?  I  noticed 
in  dressing  to-day  that  I  seemed  not  to  fit  my 
gown  quite  so  well." 

"  I  hope  not,"  answered  Mrs.  de  la  Mar, 
kindly ;  "  I  don't  wish  your  mother  to  think  we 
have  not  treated  you  well." 

She  seemed  very  fragile  and  spirituelle,  as  she 
stood  in  the  doorway,  and  the  statesman  felt  a 
142 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

queer  pang  in  the  region  of  his  heart.  He  longed 
for  the  time  when  he  could  care  for  her ;  perhaps, 
as  she  had  hinted,  domestic  unhappiness  might  be 
responsible  for  her  delicacy.  She  shook  hands 
with  him  at  parting,  and  he  felt  something  in  his 
palm;  he  examined  it  on  the  first  opportunity, 
when  he  was  unobserved.  It  was  the  little  blue 
ring  she  always  wore.  He  wondered  at  first  if 
it  had  slipped  off,  then — he  was  not  quite  sure. 

Edith  Deming  was  very  tactful  as  she  led  the 
way  to  the  bower  of  roses,  heavy  with  per- 
fume and  warm  with  dew.  She  pointed  to  some 
statues  here  and  there  amid  the  trees,  and  a  flight 
of  marble  stairs  leading  to  an  artificial  pond. 
Then  she  retailed  the  gossip  of  the  house.  The 
anxiety  of  her  companion  became  less  and  less 
apparent  as  she  grew  more  impersonal  in  her  atti- 
tude. 

But  the  inevitable  silence  came,  for  the  night 
did  not  lend  itself  to  the  commonplace,  and  hide- 
bound as  John  Townsend  was  by  conventionality, 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

even  he  was  forced  to  yield  to  the  spell  of  the  time 
and  place. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  hedge  some  young 
people  were  strolling  home,  and  to  the  tinkling 
accompaniment  of  a  mandolin,  a  high  clear  voice, 
lustrous  as  the  gems  of  which  it  sang,  thrilled  and 
troubled — 

"  The  hours  I  spent  with  thee,  dear  heart, 
Are  as  a  string  of  pearls  to  me — " 

Again  the  silence,  while  two  souls,  separated 
by  the  distance  they  had  themselves  created,  crept 
gradually  nearer  and  nearer. 

Edith  Deming  soon  reached  the  extreme  of  en- 
durance, never  a  long  journey,  and  turning  swiftly 
toward  her  companion,  asked,  "  Do  you  remember 
that  evening  we  saw  Modjeska  in  '  The  Mer- 
chant of  Venice'  ?  Who  was  it  took  the  part  of 
Jessica?  " 

She  recited  in  a  low  voice  those  magic  lines, 
beginning : 

"  In  such  a  night  as  this — " 
144 


A  Diary  and  a  Garden. 

"  Oh,  it  must  have  been  such  a  night  as  this. 
Dear,  they  forgot  everything;  cannot  you?  Let 
us  be  happy  for  this  hour !  It  binds  you  to  noth- 
ing, no  morrow,  no  future." 

Still  he  hesitated ;  yet  the  contagion  of  her  mood 
enthralled  him.  There  was  a  cloud  in  the  sky- 
sweeping  swiftly  toward  the  moon,  to  engulf  it 
in  the  shadow.  He  watched  this,  entranced.  His 
hour  had  come.  The  deep,  full  current  of  his 
passions,  dammed  by  the  strength  of  will,  had 
broken  through  the  barrier.  Little  by  little  the 
silver  disk  was  obscured.  Darkness  enveloped 
them. 

He  caught  her  to  him  and  hid  his  face  in  the 
fragrant  laces  of  her  gown. 


10  145 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  STATESMAN  REFLECTS. 

THERE  was  a  strained  atmosphere  at  Ilkley 
Villa;  the  tension  was  at  the  point  of  snapping. 
With  one  exception — this,  of  course,  referring 
to  Mr.  de  la  Mar,  who  went  into  the  city  every 
morning  and  returned  at  night  to  eat  his  dinner 
and  seclude  himself  with  his  books — the  party 
were  on  the  qui  vivc,  waiting  for  something  to 
happen,  which  was  to  crown  or  blast  their  hopes. 
This  something  was  the  statesman's  decision. 

John  Townsend  had  been  asked  to  stay  after 
the  week-end,  and,  following  Mr.  de  la  Mar's  ex- 
ample, went  in  and  out  from  the  city  to  transact 
necessary  business.  The  official  notification  of 
the  statesman's  appointment  and  its  correspond- 
ing publicity  were  delayed,  and  the  interregnum 
146 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

was  taken  advantage  of  by  that  astute  personage 
to  keep  himself  free  a  little  longer  from  the  tie  of 
an  ultimate  word.  He  studied  John  Townsend 
these  days  as  he  had  never  before  studied  him  in 
all  the  years  they  had  worked  together  side  by 
side.  All  his  mistakes  were  recalled  and  their 
reasons  tabulated;  to  offset  these  were  the  items 
of  his  faithfulness,  his  attention  to  detail,  carried 
often  to  the  point  where  the  less  important  took 
precedence  of  the  greater — the  fault  of  depart- 
ment training,  where  a  man's  attention  is  kept  so 
closely  on  the  comma  that  he  loses  the  sense  of 
the  matter  it  punctuates.  His  comprehensive 
knowledge  of  the  statesman's  affairs,  his  unflag- 
ging memory  were  remembered  and  appreciated, 
and  his  obvious  limitations  deplored ;  for  this  was 
a  post  which  demanded  that  a  man  should  have 
no  limitations,  but  that  his  ability  should  become 
elastic  at  the  pull  of  circumstance.  Then  there 
was  the  affair  of  Edith  Deming,  and  the  lips  of 
the  statesman  tightened  every  time  the  fact  of  its 
existence  obtruded.  In  the  days  near  at  hand. 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

freighted  with  the  burden  of  diplomatic  niceties, 
he  needed  someone  who  was  absolutely  free; 
someone  without  entanglements,  above  all,  an  en- 
tanglement with  a  woman  like  Edith  Deming,  who 
would  admit  no  law  but  her  own  will,  who  could 
be  depended  on  always  to  upset  the  most  careful 
calculations  by  the  impulse  of  the  moment — her 
only  mentor.  He  needed  someone  at  his  elbow, 
to  sit  in  his  pocket,  as  the  phrase  is,  ready  to  go 
and  come ;  someone  who  would  have  no  bond  that 
prevented  obedience.  He  must  have  a  man  for 
his  work  whose  mind  was  unclouded  by  passions, 
whose  life  was  absorbed  in  the  success  of  his  un- 
dertaking, who  knew  no  day  or  night,  no  outside 
obligation,  no  enervating  pleasure  and  no  regret. 
Departmental  life  does  not  recognize  the  existence 
of  heart  or  soul ;  it  is  a  Juggernaut  crushing  and 
crashing  along,  and  its  victims  are  numbered 
chiefly  among  those  who  have  stayed  in  its  way, 
disbelieving  until  the  last  in  its  inhumanity. 

Would  John  Townsend  be  willing  to  make  all 
the  sacrifices  that  would  be  demanded  from  him, 
148 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

supposing  that  he  were  chosen  as  the  assistant  on 
this  foreign  mission?  How  far  was  he  entan- 
gled with  this  woman  ?  Was  she  the  active  force 
binding  him  by  the  power  of  her  uncontrolled  af- 
fections to  an  intrigue  for  which  he  had  little  in- 
clination? Was  he  the  innocent  victim  of  a 
woman's  persistence — the  secret  of  so  many  like 
alliances  ?  Had  he  underneath  the  quiet  exterior 
a  resolute  will  ?  Had  this  human  machine,  for  as 
such  the  statesman  regarded  him,  the  resisting 
power  and  the  implacable  strength  of  mechanism  ? 
Was  he,  not  she,  the  controlling  element  ?  Had  he 
concentrated  in  this  single  passion  all  the  lesser 
emotions  that  usually  prevent  the  one  from  over- 
powering? 

In  his  own  life,  Claridge  Robertson  had  made 
sacrifices  at  the  time  needed.  He  had  cut  himself 
free  from  the  ordinary  life  and  had  studied  only 
his  career.  The  result  demonstrated  the  verity 
of  his  convictions,  and  a  man  knows  no  road  to 
success  except  that  which  he  himself  has  trod. 
He  only  asked  of  the  man  who  was  to  stand  by 
149 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

his  side  a  like  viewpoint.  Celibacy,  as  he  had 
said  that  day  in  the  rose  garden,  he  believed  nec- 
essary for  the  young  man  until  he  had  made  his 
path;  not  alone  the  celibacy  of  the  body,  but  the 
v  celibacy  of  the  heart  and  soul  as  well. 

Before  he  made  his  choice,  he  must  know  that 
this  affair  was  stopped.  If  John  Townsend  re- 
fused, then  he  was  out  of  the  running, 
his  career  closed.  The  statesman  would 
miss  him;  it  would  be  difficult  to  train  a  succes- 
sor. But  he  shook  himself  free  from  this  sug- 
gestion; no  man  ever  had  been,  ever  could  be,  an 
absolute  necessity  to  him — to  admit  that  would 
be  to  admit  a  weakness,  and  he  prided  himself 
on  having  none,  where  his  profession  was  con- 
cerned. 

But  what  of  the  alternative  choice,  Kenneth 
Bigelow?  He  studied  the  pros  and  cons  care- 
fully. That  he  was  young  enough  to  be  amen- 
able and  willing  enough  to  offset  experience  with 
enthusiasm  was  obvious.  That  his  connections 
and  their  influence  were  powerful  was  a  count  in 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

his  favor.  His  physical  attractiveness  was  ad- 
mitted also  as  a  probable  help,  for  the  social  side 
of  life  at  the  foreign  post  would  be  no  inconsider- 
able feature,  and  while  an  attachment  to  one 
woman  must  be  deplored,  the  fact  that  he  might 
control  many  would  be  a  count  in  his  favor.  The 
statesman  had  sought  the  woman  too  often,  when 
perplexities  arose,  not  to  appreciate  the  weight  of 
her  favor  or  displeasure  in  affairs  of  state.  The 
one  thing  he  had  not  spoken  of  in  regard  to  Bige- 
low,  in  his  conversation  with  Mrs.  de  la  Mar,  was 
the  reputation  the  youth  had  gained  of  being  a 
Don  Juan,  This  did  not  seriously  weigh  against 
him,  except  in  so  far  as  it  related  to  Blanche 
Adrian.  Kenneth's  attentions  in  these  last  few 
days  had  been  too  marked  to  escape  notice ;  he  had 
the  fault  of  the  amateur — exaggeration — and, 
lacking  the  ingenue's  experience,  who  met  his 
favor  with  a  deprecating  look  of  surprise  in  pub- 
lic, he  showed  to  those  watching — and  everyone 
was  watching  at  Ilkley  Villa — the  spectacle  of  a 
man  who  was  either  so  calloused  by  many  gallan- 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

tries  as  not  to  care  that  he  was  criticized  and  that 
he  was  possibly  compromising  another,  or  so 
much  in  love  as  to  be  unable  to  weigh  his  words 
and  deeds. 

The  statesman  had  not  said  the  decisive  word 
to  the  ingenue,  but  that  it  was  merely  delayed  un- 
til a  fitting  opportunity  was  known  as  well  to  her 
as  it  was  to  Mrs.  de  la  Mar,  the  only  two  who 
had  knowledge  of  his  intent ;  for,  unlike  Kenneth 
Bigelow,  he  had  the  power  of  masking  his  feel- 
ings, and  treated  the  three  women  with  the  same 
courteous  gallantry — Mrs.  de  la  Mar,  his  first 
love ;  Blanche  Adrian,  the  girl  whom  he  had  deter- 
mined to  make  his  wife,  and  Edith  Deming, 
whom  he  disliked  and  feared. 

That  Kenneth's  attentions  to  the  ingenue  were 
anything  more  than  the  idle  gallantry  that  a  young 
man  is  sure  to  pay  to  a  beautiful  girl  with  whom 
he  is  environed  for  a  fortnight  the  statesman  did 
not  credit;  but  trained  to  admit  possibilities  and 
their  consequences,  it  was  the  vague  possibility 
with  which  he  had  to  deal  in  this  crucial  decision, 

152 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

The  rule  of  celibacy  that  he  had  laid  down  for 
John  Townsend  applied  equally  well  to  Ken- 
neth Bigelow.  He  had  no  desire  to  rank  as  his 
confidential  assistant  a  man  who  was  in  the  rap- 
tures of  a  honeymoon,  or  one  whose  heart  was 
torn  by  absence  and  uncertainty.  Besides  this, 
there  was  the  delicate  complication  of  opposing" 
interests.  If  Kenneth  were  really  in  love  with  the 
ingenue — who,  he  had  reason  to  suppose,  was 
to  bear  his  own  name — there  would  be  continued 
unpleasantness.  In  the  foreign  city  where,  as  his 
wife,  she  would  have  many  social  duties  to  per- 
form, there  would  come  times  when  she  must  have 
at  her  beck  and  call  a  man  who  could  be  trusted 
with  her  emotions,  as  well  as  with  his  own  honor, 
The  fact  that  he  had  determined  to  ask  Blanche 
Adrian  to  be  his  wife  should  be  sufficient  cause,  if 
Kenneth  Bigelow  placed  his  career  above  every- 
thing else,  as  he  had  been  led  to  suppose, 
why  the  young  man  should  instantly  withdraw 
even  the  preliminary  attentions  that  he  had  of 
late  been  showering  on  the  ingenue.  True,  he 
153 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

did  not  as  yet  know  the  statesman's  views ;  know- 
ing them,  would  he  antagonize  them,  or  yield  his 
place  and  withdraw  into  the  background  before 
matters  reached  a  point  where  he  could  not  retreat 
with  honor? 

There  was  an  immediate  sacrifice  to  be  de- 
manded of  Kenneth  Bigelow,  as  of  John  Town- 
send,  before  even  the  ground  could  be  cleared  for 
a  final  choice.  That  the  sacrifice  of  the  former 
ranked  that  of  the  latter  did  not  occur  to  Claridge 
Robertson;  to  him  they  bore  the  relation  that  an 
affair  of  gallantry  does  to  that  of  la  grande  pas- 
sion. He  had  recently  had  a  conversation  with 
Mrs.  de  la  Mar  on  this  subject.  She  had  taken 
the  bull  by  the  horns,  and  had  deplored  what  she 
termed  Kenneth's  infatuation  for  her  guest. 

"  It  is,  of  course,"  she  had  averred,  "  mere  flir- 
tation on  his  part,  and,  to  give  her  credit,  I  must 
say  that  she  does  not  encourage  him.  It  will  not 
weigh  against  him  ?  "  She  had  concentrated  all 
the  pathos  of  dread  in  her  voice. 

The  statesman  did  not  answer  at  once. 
154 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

"  As  I  told  you  in  the  beginning,  but  one  thing 
can  weigh  in  my  choice — the  fitness  of  the  appli- 
cant ;  but  that  fitness  may  touch  many  characteris- 
tics. To  antagonize  one's  chief  is  not  the  usual 
path  to  political  preferment." 

"  But  he  does  not  know,"  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  had 
pleaded. 

"  But  he  will,  and  then — "  The  statesman 
had  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  his  meaning  was 
obvious. 

"  The  Bigelows  were  always  obstinate — it  is  on 
their  father's  side." 

"  Of  course,"  the  statesman  smiled  assent. 

"  They  have  always  been  self-willed ;  see  how 
Kenneth's  father  has  persistently  antagonized  me 
in  regard  to  this  matter;  and  his  mother — well, 
you  know  that  Martha  has  gelatine  vertebrae." 

"  Listen !  This  is  not  a  personal  matter,  al- 
though it  would  be  hard  to  make  a  woman  under- 
stand that.  I  never  have  changed,  I  never  shall 
change,  my  belief;  but  you  will  understand  the 
absurdity  of  having  a  man  with  me  who  is  in  love 

155 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

with  my  wife.  You  might  say  that  this  is  personal 
prejudice,  but  you  are  too  clever  not  to  admit 
that  no  circumstance  is  isolated ;  one  must  always 
affect  another,  and  who  could  tell  the  bearing 
such  a  state  of  affairs  would  have,  must  have, 
even  on  the  political  questions  I  am  called  on  to 
settle?" 

She  would  not  admit  or  deny. 

"  Supposing  the  impossible  should  happen — 
that  they  really  fall  in  love;  that  you  are  mistaken 
in  regard  to  her  feeling  for  you — supposing,  as 
the  children  say,  that  she  prefers  him  to  you, 
what  then  ?  " 

"  I  made  the  stipulation  before  this  came  into 
the  question  that  celibacy,  at  least  for  a  reasonable 
term  of  years,  must  be  one  of  the  qualifications  of 
any  young  man  whom  I  choose  to — to  stand  by 
me  at  present.  This  may  appear  harsh,  but  I 
must  adhere  to  my  decision." 

"  Why  should  you  arrogate  to  yourself  supe- 
riority to  the  law  of  nature?  " 

"  I  do  not.  You  wilfully  misunderstand  me. 
156 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

Why  cannot  you  look  at  this  from  a  broader  stand- 
point ?  The  man  who,  at  the  parting  of  the  ways, 
chooses  the  domestic  path,  with  its  calm  happiness 
and  the  routine  of  a  business  career,  which  offers 
no  unexpected  questions  and  demands  no  sacri-  ^ 
fices,  does  wisely.  I  approve.  Had  I  my  life  to 

*- 

live  over  again,  I  should  show  my  approval  by 
my  deed.  But  there  are  some  professions  that 
demand  a  man's  all;  he  cannot  serve  two  masters. 
Many  a  life  has  been  hampered,  even  destroyed, 
by  attempting  to  do  this.  You  will  understand 
soon  why  I  am  so  rigid  in  this  matter,  and  you 
must  believe  me  when  I  say  that  there  is  no  rivalry 
between  Kenneth  and  myself  sufficient  to  bias  my 
judgment.  My  hesitation  in  taking  his  future  on 
my  shoulders  is  founded  on  impartial  grounds. 
He  has  his  fighting  chance!  We  shall  see;  we 
shall  see." 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  did  not  dare  tell  Kenneth  of  the 
statesman's  intentions  in  regard  to  the  ingenue, 
for  fear  of  crystallizing  what  might  be  an  inde- 
cision into  a  dread  fact. 

157 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

One  morning's  post  ended  uncertainty.  The 
papers  were  filled  with  the  news.  It  was  an- 
nounced that  the  Honorable  Claridge  Robertson 
was  to  be  given  a  certain  mission,  whose  com- 
plications and  possibilities  had  been  the  meat  of 
editorial  paragraphs  for  months.  Half-tones  of 
the  famous  statesman  were  given  great  promi- 
nence; he  was  displayed  reading,  writing,  in  his 
well-known  attitude  of  address,  dictating  to  his 
secretary,  receiving  constituents.  The  details  of 
his  career  were  given  a  prominence  usually  al- 
lotted only  to  a  favorite  tooth-wash  or  shaving 
soap. 

The  ingenue,  with  sparkling  eyes  and  a  voice 
whose  tone  contradicted  her  irony,  announced 
that  any  pleasure  a  man  might  feel  at  such  an 
honor  must  be  counteracted  by  seeing  the  pic- 
tures of  himself  in  unscrupulous  journals,  which 
turned  an  aquiline  nose  into  a  Roman  without  a 
twinge  of  remorse,  and  made  a  bachelor  with  ir- 
reproachable antecedents  look  like  a  convict  wait- 
ing for  his  stripes. 

158 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

There  was  a  personal  letter  which  the  states- 
man read  aloud.  It  congratulated  him  in  warm 
terms,  and  stated  that  his  appointment  was  to  be 
sent  in  a  day  or  so.  It  also  suggested  that  he 
hold  himself  in  readiness  to  come  to  the  depart- 
ment at  once. 

The  buzz  about  the  breakfast-table  was  deafen- 
ing for  a  moment;  it  was  the  buzz  that  tries  to 
hide  something  deeper,  the  surprise  that  demands 
silence  and  does  not  wish  to  disclose  its  desire. 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  and  Kenneth  Bigelow  under- 
stood for  the  first  time  why  the  statesman  had 
hesitated  and  shown  such  an  unwillingness  to 
direct  the  latter's  future.  Whatever  man  he 
chose  to  stand  with  him  must  be  indeed  capable. 
For  the  first  time  since  the  night  when  he  had 
held  the  ingenue  in  his  arms  Kenneth  felt  a  re- 
turn of  his  old  ambition,  and  realized  that  there 
was  something  in  the  world  besides  a  woman's 
eyes.  What  a  chance  for  a  young  man !  Never 
would  there,  never  could  there,  be  such  another. 

He  pictured  himself,  with  the  ingenue  at  his 
159 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

side,  in  the  excitements  of  that  foreign  life,  so  de- 
liciously  near.  How  they  would  enjoy  it  to- 
gether! What  a  glory  to  be  able  to  offer  her 
this!  A  subordinate  position,  it  is  true,  but  he 
was  young  and  it  was  the  first  step. 

Mrs.  de  la  Mar  could  not  hide  her  anxiety,  but 
it  passed  unnoticed  amid  that  of  the  other  occu- 
pants of  the  table. 

John  Townsend's  lips  were  tightly  pressed.  In 
a  few  hours,  now,  he  would  know  his  fate.  He 
measured  his  antagonist  with  his  cold  glance,  as 
he  had  measured  him  many  times  lately,  noted 
all  the  striking  points  of  personality,  the  charm  of 
his  manner,  his  perfect  self-possession,  the  look 
of  radiant  hope  and  of  well-being.  The  youth 
was  well  equipped;  he  could  blame  no  man 
for  choosing  such  a  one  instead  of  his  unattrac- 
tive self ;  all  that  could  speak  for  him  was  his  past, 
and  he  hoped  that  it  had  been  sufficient  to  make 
amends  for  much  that  he  lacked.  While  his  eyes 
traveled  stealthily  over  the  face  of  Kenneth  Bige- 
low,  Edith  Deming's  were  on  his  face.  Since 
160 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

that  night  in  the  rose  garden  they  had  avoided 
tete-a-tetes.  This  was  not  a  situation  to  be  longer 
tampered  with;  there  could  be  no  more  half 
measures.  He  must  do  as  she  desired  or  leave 
her  forever,  and  she  felt  triumphantly  that  he 
could  not  do  that  now. 

The  ingenue  was  lost  in  dreams.  She  had 
never  believed  that  such  an  honor  might  be  hers 
if  she  so  willed.  She  pictured  herself  a  centre  of 
social  life  in  a  foreign  capital,  a  mistress  of  in- 
trigue. She  felt  a  pleasurable  sense  of  destiny 
encompassing  her;  then  she  met  Kenneth  Bige- 
low's  eyes,  and  her  own  gave  him  an  encourag- 
ing smile. 

The  statesman  rose  and  addressed  his  hostess. 
"  May  I  have  the  use  of  the  library  for  a  couple  of 
hours  ?  "  And,  receiving  her  consent,  he  turned 
to  his  secretary.  "  I  shall  expect  you  in  half  an 
hour.  There  is  something  of  special  impor- 
tance." 

Then  he  turned  to  Kenneth.  "  Will  you  fol- 
low Mr.  Townsend?  I  will  detain  you  but  a 
ii  161 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

moment;  there  are  certain  things — "  his  voice 
became  inaudible  as  he  turned  away. 

The  party  left  the  table  after  his  withdrawal, 
each  one  wishing  to  be  alone. 

In  half  an  hour  to  the  minute,  John  Townsend 
knocked  at  the  library  door.  The  statesman  was 
sitting  at  a  desk,  finishing  a  letter.  He  sealed, 
stamped  and  directed  it,  then  turned  to  the  man 
standing  respectfully  at  his  side,  in  whose  atti- 
tude was  a  new  awe.  Inured  to  official  distinc- 
tions, he  gauged  each  man's  position  by  his  man- 
ner. 

"  Sit  down." 

John  Townsend  obeyed. 

The  statesman  plunged  into  the  midst  of  things. 
"  You  know  that  I  shall  have  to  take  with  me  into 
this  affair  a  man  whom  I  can  trust  implicitly.  He 
must  have  certain  qualities."  He  detailed  these, 
and  to  each  John  Townsend  bowed  assent  as  a 
marionette  obeys  its  hidden  string.  "  The  choice 
lies  between  you  and  Bigelow.  The  question  of 
the  fitness  of  each  has  been  in  my  mind  for  a  long 
162 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

time.  I  have  not  yet  decided.  I  shall  not — "  he 
looked  at  his  opened  watch — "  for  one  hour." 

Townsend  started.  The  statesman,  apparently 
unconscious  of  his  emotion,  repeated :  "  In  one 
hour  I  shall  make  my  selection.  That  choice  may 
be  made  easy  for  me  by  the  voluntary  withdrawal 
of  one  of  the  applicants." 

The  gaze  of  the  secretary  was  fixed  on  the  rug. 

"  The  man  I  take  must  be  free — absolutely 
free ;  free  not  only  from  legal  but  from  other  ties. 
I  refer,  of  course,  to  his  life  as  it  relates  to  the 
other  sex.  I  can  have  no  man  who  is  hampered 
by  the  exactions  of  an  affaire  de  coeur,  as  I  refuse 
to  take  with  me  any  man  who  is  on  the  verge  of 
matrimony ;  he  must  not  even  count  the  hours  be- 
tween the  mail  steamers." 

John  Townsend  opened  his  lips  to  say  some- 
thing, but  the  statesman  interrupted. 

"  Don't  speak  yet !  I  am  not  quite  just  to  you, 
perhaps,  in  dealing  in  generalities  when  the  mat- 
ter is  one  of  so  great  importance.  I  have  heard 
— I  know,  in  fact,  of  Mrs.  Deming's  infatuation 
163 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

for  you.  I  am  cognizant  of  the  fact  that  she  came 
here — to  help  your  interests  as  she  has  helped 
them  many  times  before.  I  deplore  this, 
and  I  say  to  you  frankly  that,  unless  you  can 
tear  yourself  away  from  this  affair  absolutely,  I 
cannot  even  consider  you  as  a  candidate  for  the 
position  you  desire.  There  is  no  room  for  argu- 
ment ;  you  know  me,  and  you  know  I  am  right  in 
this.  You  must  make  your  choice  and  abide  by 
it." 

Again  Townsend  attempted  to  speak,  and  again 
the  statesman  prevented  him.  "  Come  to  me  in 
an  hour  and  say  that  you  are  free,  and  then  we 
shall  see,  we  shall  see !  You  understand,  perhaps 
better  than  any  man  except  myself,  the  importance 
of  this  post.  If  I  seem  harsh  you  must  think  of 
that.  It  is  seldom  such  an  opportunity  comes  to 
so  young  a  man.  He  should  not  consider  for  a 
moment  the  possibility  of  a  questionable  relation 
standing  in  his  way.  If  I  should  die — yes,  I 
know,  but  there  is  the  contingency — my  work 
would  have  to  be  carried  on,  and  only  one  man 
164 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

could  do  that — the  man  I  take  with  me.  Think 
this  over,  and  come  to  me  at  the  end  of  the  time 
specified." 

A  few  minutes  later  Kenneth  Bigelow  entered 
the  room  and  sat  down  without  hesitation,  look- 
ing the  statesman  frankly  in  the  face.  The  tiny 
network  of  veins  under  his  eyes  was  very  blue; 
otherwise,  he  seemed  perfectly  calm. 

"  You  have  decided  as  to  my  fitness  or  unfit- 
ness?  "  he  asked,  with  dignity.  "  I  see  now  why 
you  hesitated.  It  is  a  great  thing."  The  color 
flamed  into  his  cheeks.  He  was  thinking  even 
then  of  the  ingenue. 

The  statesman  glanced  at  him  critically. 
"  There  is  something  I  wish  to  say  to  you,  Ken- 
neth, before  I  touch  on  the  subject  of  your  possi- 
ble appointment.  It  is  a  personal  matter;  it  has 
to  do  with  myself  and — and  Blanche  Adrian.  I 
am  going  to  ask  her  to  marry  me.  I  may  say, 
perhaps,  without  egotism,  that  I  do  not  anticipate 
a  refusal." 

"  Miss  Adrian  ?     Blanche  ?  " 
165 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

"  Yes."  The  statesman  smiled  indulgently. 
"  Your  tone  makes  it  impossible  to  ignore  your 
feeling.  I  must,  therefore,  say  to  you  this:  that 
in  case  Miss  Adrian  accepts  my  offer,  it  will  be 
impossible  for  me  to  take  on  this  mission,  ex- 
posed constantly  to  the  fascination  of  her  presence, 
any  man  who  is  really  in  love  with  her.  A  flirta- 
tion is  one  thing,  not  to  be  treated  seriously,  for 
it  has  no  element  of  seriousness  in  it;  it  is  easily 
forgotten;  the  remedy,  a  new  face.  This  leads 
me  to  a  discussion  of  the  position  in  question. 
There  is  a  condition  attached  to  it :  the  man  whom 
I  choose  must  be  a  bachelor;  I  can  take  no  one 
with  me  who  has  domestic  ties.  Those  may  come 
later,  when  he  is  forty,  perhaps;  by  that  time  he 
is  made  or  marred.  You  understand  all  that  is 
implied  in  these  two  statements  and  require- 
ments?" 

"  Perfectly— but " 

"  No,"  and  the  statesman  again  timed  his  in- 
terruption with  skill ;  "  do  not  answer  me  now. 
I  shall  be  here  in  an  hour's  time.  If  you  can  say 
166 


The  Statesman  Reflects. 

to  me  then  that  you  are  free  and  that  your  only 
interest  is  to  serve  your  country,  I  shall  soon  let 
you  know  whether  in  return  for  your  loyalty  I  can 
give  you  your  opportunity.  Think  it  over."  He 
put  his  hands  on  the  young  man's  shoulders  and 
looked  him  full  in  the  eyes.  He  thought  then,  as 
he  had  thought  the  first  day  of  meeting,  that,  if 
he  ever  had  a  son,  he  would  like  him  to  grow  into 
such  a  man  as  Kenneth  Bigelow. 


167 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LOVE  OR  AMBITION. 

JOHN  TOWNSEND  went  out  of  the  library  with 
head  bent.  He  was  given  his  chance.  He  could 
not  complain,  and  yet,  since  the  night  in  the  gar- 
den of  roses,  life  had  taken  on  a  new  meaning. 
But  the  old  habits,  the  old  ambitions  were  strong 
and  fought  for  place  with  the  vigor  of  tigers. 
Absolute  renunciation  of  the  woman  he  loved  was 
the  price  demanded  for  his  future.  It  is  true  that 
he  was  bound  to  her  by  no  tie,  except  that  created 
by  his  own  honor.  He  had  taken  her  into  his 
soul.  In  those  ecstatic  moments  in  the  garden 
they  had  touched  the  flame  of  life  together;  it 
remained  for  him  to  thrust  her  into  the  cold  of  the 
outer  world.  Could  he  do  it?  She  had  said  to 
him  over  and  over  again  that  those  moments  were 
168 


Love  or  Ambition. 

as  if  they  had  never  been.  She  had  given  gen- 
erously. Her  very  abnegation  of  self  was  more 
potent  than  the  most  exacting  demand  would 
have  been. 

He  appreciated  the  situation  fully  from  the 
point  of  view  of  his  chief.  An  affair  like  this 
would  bring  scandal  on  his  administration.  Even 
supposing  the  husband  granted  her  a  divorce,  still 
the  prestige  of  the  people  concerned  meant  the 
usual  nine  days'  abuse;  he  would  enter  his  new 
office  under  a  cloud.  Or,  if  matters  remained  as 
they  were,  assuming  that  he  followed  the  way  of 
his  world,  the  result  would  be  still  more  disas- 
trous. He  would  be  tied  to  a  nervous,  high- 
strung  woman,  jealous,  exacting,  unbridled  as  to 
her  emotions,  and  the  prey  to  every  fleeting  im- 
pulse. He  did  not  blame  Claridge  Robertson  for 
the  stand  he  had  taken.  It  was  just,  and  no  one 
more  than  he  could  appreciate  this  quality.  He 
was  to  give  her  up  entirely — that  was  the  condi- 
tion ;  not  with  diplomatic,  time-serving  excuses,  a 
gradual  withdrawal  from  day  to  day,  a  letter 
169 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

instead  of  a  promised  meeting,  one  delay  and  then 
another,  little  by  little  the  weakening  of  the  knots 
until  the  final  break  was  made  easy.  This  was 
not  to  be.  She  was  to  be  cut  out  of  his  life 
within  an  hour,  now,  at  once,  as  a  limb  is  lopped 
from  a  tree.  When  the  minute-hand  of  the  clock 
should  have  traveled  its  circled  round,  he  must 
go  back  to  his  chief  a  free  man,  ready  to  take 
up  the  new  and  absorbing  duties,  for  which  he 
had  prepared  himself  by  years  of  faithful  service. 

What  should  he  do  ?  Decisions  had  been  made 
easy  for  him  before,  for  precedents  were  always 
at  hand  in  his  departmental  life,  to  tell  not  only 
how  to  act  but  what  to  think.  His  training 
offered  no  clue  to  this  situation;  its  mystery  ap- 
palled him.  That  he  of  all  men  should  find  him- 
self in  such  a  chaos  of  conflicting  desires,  he  who 
had  never  swerved  before  from  the  straight,  un- 
hillocked  road  of  governmental  duties,  who  had 
seen  before  him  at  the  birth  of  each  day  a  path 
similar  to  the  one  he  had  trod  the  day  before ! 

As  Claridge  Robertson  had  conjectured,  John 
170 


Love  or  Ambition. 

Townsend  was  consumed  by  a  passion  more  de- 
structive because  more  concentrated  than  that 
which  is  modified  by  other  sentiments  in  the  aver- 
age man.  But  as  sand  is  thrown  on  a  flame  to 
extinguish  it,  so,  grain  by  grain,  he  threw  on  this 
glow  the  thoughts  of  ambition,  hope,  the  dreams 
that  had  been  his  since  childhood. 

Naturally  he  turned  his  steps  to  the  rose  gar- 
den. She  was  awaiting  him  there.  She  was  pale 
and  agitated.  About  her  in  the  path  were  broken 
stems  and  strewn  leaves  which  she  had  picked 
and  thrown  from  her  to  still  the  inward  tumult 
by  some  outward  manifestation.  They  faced 
each  other.  His  countenance,  always  impassive, 
his  gestures  and  walk,  machine-like,  offered  her 
no  clue. 

"  Well,  he  has  chosen.  It  is  you,  or — don't  tell 
me  that  pink-cheeked  youth  has  defeated  you." 

"  It  is  not  decided." 

"  Not  decided  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  I 
thought  he  said " 

"  He  is  to  decide  in  one  hour." 
171 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

"  Why  should  he  wait  ?  Doesn't  he  know  his 
own  mind  ?  " 

"  He  cannot  decide  until  certain  things  have 
happened."  He  turned  his  face  away  from 
her. 

"You  mean — ?"  she  came  nearer  and  placed 
her  hand  on  his. 

"  I  am  to  come  to  him  in  an  hour's  time — free, 
else  I  am  out  of  the  running." 

"  Free  ?  "  Her  lips  were  white.  He  thought 
she  was  going  to  faint,  and  put  out  his  hand  to 
steady  her. 

She  shook  herself  from  it.  "Free?  You  mean 
free  from  me?  " 

He  nodded.  But  he  was  merciful  and  did 
not  look  at  her. 

There  was  silence  for  a  long  time.  In  the  walled 
inclosure  they  were  as  much  alone  as  if  this  were 
another  Eden  and  they  its  only  occupants,  con- 
scious for  the  first  time  of  the  presence  of  an  un- 
seen evil.  Her  eyes  wandered  restlessly  about. 
Here  and  there  she  noted  withered  roses — the 
172 


Love  or  Ambition. 

flowers  of  yesterday.  There  was  a  dry,  lustreless 
effect  on  the  vegetation ;  not  a  breeze  stirred.  The 
coming  heat  of  midday  threatened  them  with  its 
resistless  enervation. 

What  could  she  say?  Nothing.  She  had  said 
all  that  memorable  night;  anything  more  would 
be  supererogatory.  For  once  her  impulsive,  ready 
speech,  tactless,  unmeaning  often,  was  dried  up. 
She  could  only  wait.  She  looked  at  him,  but 
the  look  gained  nothing.  He  was  gazing  far 
away,  his  eyes  hiding  with  their  opaqueness  all 
inner  meanings,  as  a  pane  of  ground  glass  re- 
fuses the  penetration  of  the  curious. 

Their  thoughts  followed  parallel  lines.  Over 
and  over  again  they  traversed  the  events  of  their 
acquaintance,  friendship,  love.  They  had  met 
conventionally,  and  the  continuance  of  their  rela- 
tion had  been  due  to  her  persistence.  It  was  longf 
before  he  noted  her  interest,  longer  before  he  re- 
sponded by  even  a  thought ;  then  she  had  seen  the 
opportunity  to  help  him,  and  it  was  through  her 
secret  efforts  that  he  had  been  promoted  to  a  place 
173 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

from  which  the  step  to  the  secretaryship,  his  pres- 
ent position,  was  accomplished. 

Her  marriage  had  never  had  an  excuse,  unless 
the  will  of  others  be  one.  Tied  to  a  man  who 
loathed  her  as  she  loathed  him,  propinquity  mak- 
ing them  fiercely  antagonistic,  there  had  been  no 
hour  when  she  had  not  chafed  at  her  chains,  and 
scarcely  a  day  when  she  had  not  implored  her 
husband  to  free  them  both  from  their  mistakes. 
Her  first  requests  had  been  met  with  contemptu- 
ous rebuffs;  lately  he  had  maintained  a  stolid  in- 
difference, but,  unknown  to  her,  since  her  absence 
this  time,  he  had  wakened  suddenly  to  the  advan- 
tage of  a  home  freed  from  the  turbulence  of  her 
moods,  her  recriminations,  insolences  and  retal- 
iations. He  had  all  at  once  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  even  the  publicity  of  a  divorce  was  prefer- 
able to  the  unending  unpleasantness  of  a  marriage 
like  theirs. 

She  had  been  free,  comparatively,  for  he  had 
been  too  indifferent  to  care  about  her  coming  and 
going,  except  so  far  as  he  could  irritate  her  by 


Love  or  Ambition. 

interference.  The  oases  of  his  life  had  been  found 
in  her  absences,  and  it  was  not  surprising  that  he 
should  desire  a  prolonged  separation. 

But  of  this  the  lovers  were  ignorant,  and  the 
letter  announcing  the  husband's  desire  would  not 
reach  the  wife  until  too  late  to  affect  their  deci- 
sion. She  would  have  chosen  this,  had  she 
known;  for,  like  every  woman,  she  wished  to  be 
loved  in  spite  of  difficulties,  the  more,  perhaps, 
on  their  account.  Supposing  John  Townsend 
should  prefer  her  and  love  to  his  dream  without 
her  they  would  have  to  give  up  much ;  she,  luxury, 
ever  the  woman's  temptation;  he,  ambition,  the 
man's  price.  Was  it  worth  the  sacrifice? 

The  minute-hand  crept  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  fatal  point. 

Kenneth  Bigelow  ran  into  the  arms  of  Mrs. 
de  la  Mar  as  he  came  out  of  the  library. 

"  What  is  it,  Kenneth?  "  she  asked,  anxiously. 
"  I  was  so  nervous  I  simply  could  not  wait,  and 
have  been  walking  up  and  down  here  like  a  caged 
beast." 

175 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

There  was  an  ecstatic  look  on  his  face  that  no 
one  could  mistake. 

"  You  have  it  ?  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad !  You 
can  never  know  how  I  have  hoped  and  prayed." 

A  shadow  crossed  the  man's  face.  "  I  am 
sorry,"  he  stammered,  awkwardly.  He  had  for- 
gotten everything  but  the  young  girl,  waiting 
somewhere,  whom  he  was  seeking  in  his  thought, 
his  body  detained  against  his  will. 

"  You  don't  mean  you  haven't  it  ?  Why  did 
you  look  so  happy  ?  What  is  it  ?  Tell  me — there 
is  something.  I  don't  understand,  and  I  can't 
endure  the  suspense." 

"I  have  lost  it!"  He  spoke  with  decision. 
"  Absolutely.  But  it's  my  own  choice.  He  gave 
me  my  chance — my  fighting  chance.  You  mustn't 
blame  him." 

"You  have  lost  it — why?  You  have  with- 
drawn in  favor  of  that — that  automaton — 
that " 

"  Hush,  auntie,  dear ;  that  wasn't  it." 

"  What,  then  ?  "  Her  forgotten  fear  took  pos- 
176 


Love  or  Ambition. 

session  of  her.  "  You  don't  mean  it  is  on  account 
of  her — you  have  really  been  in  earnest;  you 
didn't  see,  didn't  know,  you  were  running  your 
chances  ?  " 

"  It  is  for  her — for  Blanche."  There  was  no 
consciousness  of  a  sacrifice.  He  had  gained  his 
world ;  what  mattered  a  paltry  ambition  ? 

"  Kenneth,  think  what  you  are  doing — think 
of  the  life  you  are  condemning  yourself  to ;  think, 
if  you  love  me  at  all,  of  my  disappointment;  it 
has  been  my  wish  for  years.  I  can't  let  you  give 
it  up — I  can't." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  stammered  again.  His  mood 
did  not  lend  itself  to  originality  of  expression. 
He  realized  all  at  once  what  she  was  suffering — 
and  suffering  so  that  he  could  not  help  her. 

"  Has  she  promised — have  you  spoken  to 
her?"  Hope  died  hard. 

He  remembered  his  promise  to  the  ingenue,  and 
did  not  answer. 

"She  has?" 

"  I  am  going  to  her  now."  He  tried  to  put 
12  177 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

his  arms  about  her  in  the  old  boyish  way,  but  she 
repulsed  him. 

"  No,  Kenneth."  Her  lips  were  hardened  into 
a  thin,  straight  line.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  forgive 
you  some  day,  for  I  love  you  and  am  a  woman, 
but  it  will  take  a  long  time.  I  am  sick  and  hurt." 
She  turned  and  left  him  standing  perplexed. 

He  found  the  ingenue  at  the  desk  in  the  big 
hall,  tearing  up  a  slip  of  paper  on  which  she  had 
been  scribbling.  She  arose  and  came  forward. 

He  put  his  arms  about  her  and  turned  her  beau- 
tiful face  to  his.  "  Dear,  I  hope  you  will  not  be 
too  disappointed.  I  am  not  to  go  with  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson. He  has  chosen  someone  better  fitted." 

"  You  mean  John  Townsend  ?  " 

"  I  presume  so.  You  see,  he  has  experience  and 
other  things.  It  is  a  wise  choice,  and  Mr.  Robert- 
son has  acted  well.  You  do  not  care — much  ?  " 

The  ingenue  did  not  answer  for  a  moment; 
then :  "  What  will  you  do?  " 

"  Oh,  I  shall  go  into  the  firm — I  don't  mind 
now,  not  a  bit,"  and  there  was  no  hesitation  in 
178 


Love  or  Ambition. 

his  voice.  "  There  will  always  be  the  evenings, 
Sundays  and  holidays,  and  sometimes  you  will 
walk  down  to  the  office  for  me.  When  you  do 
that,  and  I  know  you  are  coming,  I  can  get 
through  the  day  all  right.  You  are  not  disap- 
pointed ?  Tell  me,  dear." 

"  No,  but " 

"But  what?" 

"  I  don't  understand !  Why  is  Townsend  bet- 
ter fitted  than  you?  You  have  more  brains  in 
your  little  finger  than  he  has  in  his  whole  body; 
you  are  a  man,  and  he  is  a  thing;  you  are 
influential  and  well  connected,  and  he  is  a  no- 
body." 

"  But  there  are  many  things  governing  polit- 
ical choice;  it  is  not  always  the  man  who  seems 
to  be  the  best  fitted  who  is  really  so." 

"  Kenneth,  you  are  hiding  something  from  me. 
Tell  me  at  once." 

**  Mr.  Robertson  wants  an  unmarried  man." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  Isn't  that  enough  ?  How  shrewd  you  are ! — 
179 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

I  never  suspected  it.  Well,  he  doesn't  want  any- 
body who  is  in  love  with  you.  He  imagines — 
a  good  joke  isn't  it? — that  if  he  asks  you,  you 
will  marry  him.  Think  of  it !  What  an  outrage 
— a  man  old  enough  to  be  your  father !  " 

"  It  is  a  great  position." 

"  Very  great,  dear ;  but  I  know  that  would  not 
weigh  with  you  any  more  than  it  would  with 
me." 

They  sat  quietly  side  '>y  side;  then  Kenneth 
said :  "  Isn't  it  a  great  thing — a  wonderful 
thing?" 

"What?" 

"  This,  dear,"  and  he  kissed  her.  "  For  years 
I  have  thought  only  of  my  career,  worked  to  that 
end,  partly  because  my  aunt  wished  it,  partly  be- 
cause I  desired,  above  all  else,  to  get  away  from 
the  business  life.  Now  I  don't  care.  I  am  going 
to  take  up  that  life  without  a  single  regret.  I 
can  hate  nothing  any  longer,  not  even  uncongenial 
work." 

"  And  you  are  doing  this  for  me?  " 
1 80 


Love  or  Ambition. 

There  was  an  awe-struck  tone  in  her  voice, 
which  Kenneth  remembered  afterward. 

"  Don't  imply  there  is  any  giving  up.  I  would 
lay  down  my  life  gladly  for  you,  and  it  would 
be  no  sacrifice."  He  withdrew  himself  from  her 
for  a  moment  to  regain  his  self-control,  and  laid 
his  blond  head  on  the  cushions,  face  down,  his 
favorite  attitude  of  thought. 

There  was  a  soft  touch  of  lips  at  the  back  of 
his  neck,  and  when  he  looked  up  the  ingenue  had 
stolen  away. 

Alone  in  her  room,  she  re-opened  the  note  re- 
ceived but  a  half-hour  since  from  the  Honorable 
Claridge  Robertson.  "  Would  she  answer  him 
soon?  There  were  certain  reasons  which  she 
might  guess  that  made  this  unseemly  haste  par- 
donable." She  could  read  between  the  lines  that 
she  had  dallied  too  long.  She  knew  that  the  mo- 
ment had  come.  He  was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled 
with.  Having  given  her  all  this  time  to  reflect, 
having  shown  his  intentions  by  various  ways,  it 
181 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

only  remained  for  him  to  disclose  the  iron  hand 
concealed  by  the  velvet  glove.  He  was  patient 
— within  limits.  He  wanted  her  consent,  and  he 
wanted  it  at  once.  That  was  the  gist  of  the  note, 
beneath  flattering  phrases.  He  was  waiting  in 
the  library.  Would  she  come  there,  or  send  him 
word  ? 

Her  lips  were  still  warm  with  the  kisses  of 
her  lover.  She  had  been  touched  to  the  depths 
of  her  calculating  soul  by  the  greatness  of  his 
affection  and  the  generosity  of  his  attitude.  She 
had  had  laid  at  her  feet  the  one  gift  which  few 
women  ever  receive — a  selfless  love,  and  she  ap- 
preciated it  as  only  the  woman  can  who  has  known 
but  the  other  kind,  which  thinks  only  and  always 
of  itself. 

Love!  What  was  it  that  Mrs.  Deming  had 
told  her — that  only  in  love  would  she  find  relief 
from  the  burden  of  life;  that  she  would  gain 
everything  by  yielding  to  it;  that  she  would 
lose  all  by  denying  it?  She  knew  that  Mrs. 
Deming  spoke  the  truth;  she  had  seen  how, 
182 


Love  or  Ambition. 

in  another,  renunciation  could  bring  supreme  joy. 
Was  she  strong  enough  to  follow  that  example 
— give  all  and  receive  all?  She  had  jested  the 
day  she  talked  to  her  mother;  in  her  heart  had 
always  been  the  determination  to  make  le  grand 
manage;  she  had  seen  in  this  visit  her  opportun- 
ity, and  she  had  taken  her  chance,  conscious  of 
her  power  over  men  and  never  doubting  her  suc- 
cess. She  had  thought  of  Kenneth  Bigelow  with 
curiosity,  prompted  by  the  many  stories  she  had 
heard  of  his  beauty,  his  gallantry  and  his  charm ; 
but  she  had  judged  him  as  a  possible  means  to 
an  end — that  was  all;  a  rival,  perhaps,  to  stir 
inertia  into  action,  a  folly  for  a  Midsummer  mood. 
That  she  would  really  fall  in  love  with  him  she 
had  never  dreamed,  for  she  had  never  supposed 
it  possible  that  she  could  fall  in  love  with  any- 
one. 

And  this  was  love!  this  power  that  made  her 

hesitate,  doubt  and  question,  that  made  her  turn 

away  from  the  chosen  path  at  the  moment  when 

it  opened  into  the  promised  land — this  fascination 

183 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

that  even  in  memory  thrilled  her,  and  made  her 
throb  in  an  agony  of  delight.  She  pictured  an 
existence  with  Kenneth — they  two  in  a  world  by 
themselves — its  happiness  only  tempered  by  the 
obligations  of  life,  its  returns  sweet  enough  to 
repay  its  separations.  Then  she  deliberately 
turned  her  mind  from  this  idyllic  picture  to  an- 
other. Wealth,  prestige,  opportunity  were  to  be 
had  for  the  asking.  Never  was  there  a  woman 
who  could  not  be  tempted  by  them;  never  was 
there  one  more  susceptible  to  their  power.  Day- 
dreams enthralled  her.  She  saw  the  gay  life  of 
a  foreign  court,  where  she  would  be  a  conspicuous 
figure;  she  outlined  adventures  of  gallantry;  she 
saw  herself  the  envied  of  women  and  the  adored 
of  men ;  she  held  the  reins  of  power  in  her  hand ; 
she  was  feted  and  flattered — a  queen  among 
revels.  She  could  have  this  or  the  commonplace 
life  of  a  provincial  town,  with  its  humdrum  par- 
ties, its  occasional  outings,  its  growing-old,  side- 
tracked from  the  main  road  and  never  knowing 
the  best ;  day  after  day  the  same  routine,  the  same 
184 


Love  or  Ambition. 

people,  the  same  gowns,  the  same  thoughts,  love 
itself  wearied  by  ceaseless  repetitions. 

Again  the  vision  of  the  man  below,  with  his 
pure,  grave  face,  his  loving  eyes,  his  unselfish- 
ness; and  the  thought  of  the  look  that  might 
come  into  that  countenance  to  cloud  its  youth  and 
joy  when  he  learned  that  she  had  been  untrue. 
The  agony  of  doubt  held  her  in  its  grip. 

Minute  after  minute  passed;  finally  she  went 
to  the  window,  where  a  writing-table  had  been 
placed.  She  wrote  a  few  lines,  hurriedly,  in- 
closed them,  and  sealed  the  envelope  with  her  spe- 
cial device,  a  lily  impaled  on  the  point  of  a  sword. 
She  rang  the  bell,  and  gave  the  maid  her  note  to 
deliver  to  the  occupant  of  the  library. 

While  she  was  fighting  her  battle,  Kenneth 
Bigelow  remained  in  a  recumbent  position,  with 
his  arms  thrown  over  his  head,  thinking  the  long, 
long  thoughts  of  youth.  Never  for  a  moment  did 
he  doubt  her  faith  any  more  than  he  doubted  his 
own.  All  his  life  heretofore  seemed  to  him  but 
185 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

a  preparation  for  this.  How  hard  he  would  work 
for  her — that  routine  work  he  had  once  hated, 
which  now  seemed  but  a  flower-strewn  path  lead- 
ing to  a  field  of  many  delights.  He  would  please 
others,  too — his  father  and  mother,  who  had  al- 
ways resented  his  aunt's  influence  and  his  own 
predilections,  who  had  suffered  at  his  withdrawals 
and  his  outside  interests.  He  could  see  his  gentle 
mother  take  his  wife  to  her  arms,  and  his  stern 
father,  who  had  vouchsafed  him  but  once  or  twice 
in  his  life  the  hand-clasp  of  approval,  greeting 
him  as  a  prodigal  son  returning  from  a  far  coun- 
try. 

He  was  sorry  for  Townsend.  He  would  get 
what  he  wanted;  but,  after  all,  it  was  so  little. 
He  would  never  know  that  he  had  missed  the  su- 
preme thing. 

The  moments  flew  along.  The  time  approached 
when  he  must  make  his  second  visit  to  the  states- 
man and  announce  his  decision. 


186 


<  CHAPTER  X. 

< 

VAGARIES  OF  HEARTS. 


THE  statesman  was  sitting  in  the  same  position 
when  John  Townsend  knocked.  He  was  reading 
a  tiny,  perfumed  note,  and  when  his  secretary  en- 
tered he  laid  it  down  and  placed  a  paper-weight 
over  it,  as  if,  like  a  butterfly,  it  might  take  to 
itself  wings  and  float  away. 

"Well?" 

The  young  man  had  approached  respectfully, 
and  awaited  his  chief's  permission  before  he 
opened  his  lips.  "  I — am — free,  sir,  at  your  com- 
mands." 

That  was  all;  only  the  tense  lines  of  his  face 
and  its  chalky  pallor  were  witnesses  of  the  inner 
struggle. 

Claridge  Robertson  said  nothing;  his  expres- 
187 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

sion  did  not  change ;  it  was  the  expected  that  had 
happened. 

"  It  would  be  well  for  you  to  go  into  the  city 
at  once ;  there  is  a  train  that  leaves  in  an  hour.  I 
shall  be  there  myself  to-morrow  or  the  next  day. 
I  am  simply  awaiting  the  official  news  of  my  ap- 
pointment. I  shall  tell  you  then  all  my  plans — 
and  my  decision." 

The  secretary  bowed.  There  were  a  few  other 
matters  discussed,  and  the  interview,  apparently 
so  commonplace,  but  freighted  with  its  burden  of 
human  suffering,  was  over. 

As  the  secretary  reached  the  door  the  states- 
man recalled  him.  "  If  you  do  not  care  to  see 
anyone,  I  will  make  your  excuses." 

Again  the  secretary  bowed  his  appreciation  and 
left  the  room.  Perhaps  nothing  in  his  career  had 
ever  shown  the  forces  that  had  shaped  it  better 
than  these  few  minutes,  when  he  had  given  so 
much,  yet  did  not  even  know  if  his  sacrifice  were 
to  be  crowned  with  the  laurels  of  victory.  He 
strode  by  the  rose  garden  and  did  not  turn  his 
1 88 


Vagaries  of  Hearts. 

head.  Was  she  there?  Then  he  thrust  her  from 
his  thought  and  continued  on  his  way,  trusting 
to  chance  to  find  a  vehicle  that  would  carry  him 
into  the  village. 

In  the  garden  Edith  Deming  sat  waiting. 
Whatever  happened,  he  would  at  least  come  to  her 
and  tell  her  his  decision.  Even  if  the  worst  came, 
there  would  be  the  relief  of  a  farewell — the  last. 
It  would  be  something  to  remember  in  the  long 
days  to  come,  in  the  sleepless  nights,  in  the  quar- 
rels and  trials  of  her  domestic  life.  She  would, 
if  this  happened,  tear  him  out  of  her  heart  with 
all  the  force  of  a  passionate  woman's  will,  but  at 
least  she  would  accord  him  this  minute — before 
their  roads  diverged.  She  would  show  him,  and, 
later,  the  world  that  she  was  not  the  weakling  they 
thought  her.  She  would  never  again  waste 
thought  or  word  on  his  memory,  but  she  must  pre- 
pare for  that  future  by  the  remembrance  of  hurts 
she  could  inflict  on  him  in  the  moment  of  his 
triumph.  So  her  thoughts  wandered. 

A  servant  approached  with  a  letter  for  her, 
189 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

which  had  come  by  the  second  post.  It  was  in 
her  husband's  handwriting.  She  fingered  it  nerv- 
ously, then  stopped  the  servant's  retreat. 

"  Mr.  Townsend  is  in  the  library  with  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson ;  tell  him  when  he  comes  out  that  I  am  here 
and  would  like  to  see  him  for  a  moment." 

Her  voice  was  husky  and  her  manner  that  of 
a  caged  lioness,  but  the  servant  was  well  trained. 
How  she  hated  herself  for  the  message!  but  she 
must  see  him,  she  must  see  him!  She  almost 
screamed  in  her  agitation.  If  he  had  been  true  to 
her,  all  would  be  well ;  he  would  forgive  her  lack 
of  control  as  he  had  so  often  forgiven  it  before; 
if  not,  then  he  at  least  owed  it  to  her  to  be  the 
first  to  tell  her  of  her  loss. 

She  tore  the  letter  open.  There  were  eight 
closely  written  sheets,  in  the  fine,  copperplate 
handwriting,  every  letter  exact,  every  space  care- 
fully noted,  which  she  hated  as  she  hated  every- 
thing else  relating  to  the  man  whose  name  she 
bore.  It  detailed  in  terms  of  disgust  every  event 
-of  their  unhappy  existence  from  the  wedding  day 
190 


Vagaries  of  Hearts. 

to  the  present  time.  It  was  filled  with  accusa- 
tions, innuendoes,  covert  suggestions  of  wrong- 
doing and  unalterable  dislike.  It  ended  by  stat- 
ing that  the  only  happiness  the  writer  had  ever 
known  had  been  found  in  her  absences,  and  that, 
moved  by  a  desire  for  a  continuance  of  peace,  he 
was  in  communication  with  his  lawyers  as  to  the 
least  public  and  surest  method  of  divorce. 

She  read  it  through  twice,  then  gazed  blankly 
at  the  vine-covered  wall.  If  it  had  come  earlier! 
Had  its  delay  ruined  her  life?  She  twisted  it 
in  her  fingers.  She  was  glad  it  had  not  come 
sooner.  She  was  willing  to  abide  by  her  lover's 
decision ;  how  much  happier  they  would  both  be  to 
know  that  it  had  not  been  influenced  by  this ! 

There  were  quick  steps  approaching.  It  was 
he.  Her  heart  beat  at  twice  its  normal  speed. 

It  was  only  the  servant  she  had  sent.  "  Mr. 
Townsend  has  gone." 

"  Gone !  "  She  screamed  the  word.  "  You 
don't  mean  gone !  " 

The  servant  turned  his  eyes  away,  ostensibly 
191 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

to  brush  a  caterpillar  from  his  sleeve.  "  Mr. 
Robertson  told  me,  ma'am;  he  said  as  how  he'd 
got  to  catch  the  next  train  and  wouldn't  be  back 
again." 

She  waited  until  the  sound  of  the  man's  feet 
announced  a  safe  distance,  then  threw  herself  on 
the  sward  amid  the  roses,  and  beat  the  ground 
with  her  clenched  fists.  How  long  she  lay  there 
she  did  not  know — minutes,  days,  months,  years, 
an  eternity.  She  lived  them  all,  and  found  them 
all  alike  futile  and  bare. 

The  time  had  come.  Kenneth  aroused  himself 
from  his  dreams  of  future  happiness  at  the  an- 
nouncement that  the  statesman  awaited  him. 
Only  an  hour  had  elapsed,  but  an  hour  sometimes 
mocks  the  belief  that  we  can  divide  time  into  a 
block  system  of  regularity.  Only  an  hour — it 
seemed  to  Kenneth  that  it  was  at  least  a  year 
since  he  had  stood  there  before.  It  was  a  time 
that  had  made  a  man  of  him,  stripped  him  of 
all  his  uncertainties,  placed  him  vis-b-vis  with 
192 


Vagaries  of  Hearts. 

truth.    He  was  tall,  serene,  magnificent  in  his  dis- 
dain. 

"  It  was  not  necessary  that  you  should  have 
sent  me  away,"  he  said,  simply.  "  I  knew  my 
own  mind,  then.  I  have  never  had  a  moment's 
hesitation;  but  you  exacted  obedience,  and  I  was 
glad  to  accord  it." 

The  statesman  looked  at  him  curiously.  He 
had  known  many  men,  young,  middle-aged,  old. 
He  had  studied  them  as  the  man  studies  humanity 
who  believes  that  everyone  has  a  price,  and  who  is 
desirous  of  finding  out  the  amount  in  the  quickest 
possible  time.  He  knew  that  no  price  would  avail 
here;  that  honor  and  loyalty  were  planted  so 
firmly  that  nothing  would  tear  them  up;  that 
nothing  ever  could.  Claridge  Robertson  had  com- 
menced life  with  an  ideal  of  what  a  man  should 
be.  He  had  had  neither  the  inclination  nor 
strength  to  personify  that  ideal  in  himself,  and  he 
had  never  found  it  in  another  until  the  day  when 
Kenneth  Bigelow  looked  him  in  the  eyes.  He  had 
studied  him  closely;  he  had  found  an  instinct 
13  193 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

for,  and  an  unflinching  love  of  the  truth,  a  shrink- 
ing from  evil  in  its  various  forms,  a  passion  of 
disdain  and  resentment  for  everything  that  is 
mean,  trivial  and  petty.  Kenneth  had  the  soul 
that,  by  the  law  of -averages,  one  should  find  in 
a  deformed  body ;  that  it  should  have  been  placed 
in  one  whose  physical  beauty  was  so  great, 
argued  that  nature  had  attempted  to  show  what 
men  could  be  rather  than  what  they  are,  to  shame 
others  by  the  intrusion  among  them  of  one  who 
put  to  blush  the  creed  that  morality  and  attraction 
are  incompatible  companions. 

The  statesman  well  knew  that  he  could  not 
force  this  man's  hand  as  he  had  that  of  his  sec- 
retary. He  shrank  from  hearing  his  decision. 

Kenneth  did  not  wait  for  any  question.  "  I  am 
in  love  with  Miss  Adrian.  I  have  been — well,  I 
suppose,  counting  by  days,  it  is  not  long,  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  have  loved  her  all  my  life — I 
could  not  give  her  up.  There  is  nothing  that 
would  weigh  for  a  minute — nothing." 

"  You  have  spoken  to  her  ?  " 
194 


Vagaries  of  Hearts. 

Kenneth  was  bound  by  his  promise.  "  I  wish 
her  for  my  wife.  I  shall  leave  no  stone  unturned 
to  gain  her.  You  must  see  that  it  is  impossible 
to  think  for  a  moment  of  a  compromise." 

"  Kenneth — "  the  statesman's  voice  shook  witti 
feeling — "  don't  decide  now.  I  want  you  with 
me.  I  can  trust  you  as  I  have  never  trusted  an- 
other man.  I  feel  this,  know  it.  I  am  growing 
old.  I  need  a  son.  Tear  this  out  of  your  heart 
— you  can  if  you  will — and  come  with  me.  I  will 
take  you  if  you  say  the  word,  despite  the  delicate 
position  in  which  that  decision  will  place  you — 
and  us." 

"  Us  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Kenneth  had  taken  a  step  nearer,  and  the  blue 
veins  under  his  eyes  seemed  to  leap  into  promi- 
nence. 

The  statesman  turne'd  and  drew  a  note  from 
beneath  the  paper-weight.  "  Miss  Adrian  has  just 
promised  to  be  my  wife."  He  handed  the  note 
to  the  young  man,  who  brushed  it  aside  with  a 
passionate  gesture. 

195 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

"  She  is  going  to  marry  you !  She  is  going 
to  marry  you !  "  The  words  came  from  a  stricken 
heart ;  but  after  that  exclamation  he  was  silent. 

In  a  minute  he  walked  to  the  window  and  stood 
motionless,  looking  out  on  the  stretch  of  velvet 
lawn  to  the  sunlight  dancing  on  the  waters  of  the 
lake,  to  all  the  beauty  and  repose  of  the  Summer 
scene.  He  felt  strange ;  the  physical  sickness  out- 
weighed the  mental.  So  this  was  the  way  people 
were  before  they  fainted ;  he  had  often  wondered. 
Everything  whirled  in  this  way  and  grew  black. 
But  why  did  the  floor  slip  away  ? — where  was  it  ? 
— how  foolish  of  him,  of  course  there  was  ground 
there!  But  why  was  the  lake  so  angry  all  at 
once?  If  he  could  only  feel  something  in  his 
hand,  something  to  cling  to !  He  put  it  out  blind- 
ly, and  the  next  he  knew  he  was  on  the  floor  with 
the  statesman  bending  over  him,  pouring  water 
down  his  lips  and  on  his  head. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  said,  as  he  slowly  recov- 
ered. "  I  have  frightened  you — don't  tell  her, 
will  you  ?  " 

196 


Vagaries  of  Hearts. 

The  statesman  shook  his  head. 

Kenneth  staggered  to  his  feet.  "  I  am  all  right 
now,  right  as  can  be.  I  guess  I  have  been  spoiled, 
to  let  a  little  thing  like  that  knock  me  out.  It 
isn't  a  very  good  capital  to  commence  life  with, 
is  it?  "  He  reached  the  door. 

The  statesman  put  his  hands  on  the  boy's  shoul- 
ders and  spun  him  round.  "  Kenneth,  I  know 
now  that  what  I  suggested  is  impossible;  but  you 
will  forgive  me — you  have  no  hard  feelings  ?  " 

"Forgive  you?"  There  was  sincerity  in  his 
voice  and  eyes.  "  I  have  nothing  to  forgive.  You 
have  always  treated  me  well,  better  than  I  ex- 
pected; you  gave  me  my  chance,  and  you  could 
not  help  loving  her.  Who  could  ?  "  He  gripped 
the  older  man's  hands.  "  Good-bye.  I  am  going 
off  immediately.  I  could  not  stay ;  it  would  be  too 
much.  But  you  will  tell  her,  will  you,  that  I 
wish  her  all  the  happiness  in  the  world  ?  "  They 
stood  a  minute  with  hands  clasped.  Then  he  con- 
tinued, solemnly :  "  You  will  be  good  to  her,  will 
you  not?  She  is  so  young  and  sweet  and  dear, 
197 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

and  perhaps  does  not  always  think.  I  imagine 
girls  are  like  that;  they  don't  feel  so  deeply  them- 
selves, and  they  don't  realize  all  a  man  suffers. 
You  will  promise  me  that,  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  promise." 

The  door  closed  between  them. 

Kenneth  caught  at  the  railing  once  or  twice 
going  up-stairs;  he  still  felt  sick  and  faint,  and  he 
could  not  think  very  clearly.  If  he  could  see  his 
aunt  for  a  minute,  put  his  head  on  her  shoulder 
and  have  her  smooth  his  forehead,  as  she  had 
done  so  often  when  he  was  ill  or  tired  or  un- 
happy! He  knocked  at  the  door.  There  was  a 
silence  of  a  minute  or  two,  then  her  voice : 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  It  is  I— Kenneth." 

The  tones  were  unlike  those  he  was  accustomed 
to. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Kenneth,  but  I  cannot  see  you 
now;  I  don't  wish  to." 

"  But  I  am  going  away ;  can  I  not  say  good- 
bye?" 

198 


Vagaries  of  Hearts. 

"  Good-bye.  Perhaps  it  is  better  so.  I  shall 
try  to  forgive  you." 

Still  the  door  remained  obstinately  closed,  and 
he  staggered  to  his  room  and  threw  himself  on 
the  bed. 

And  this  was  life — the  life  from  which  he  had 
been  guarded  until  now!  The  life  men  knew, 
not  of  romance,  but  of  reality,  the  life  where  am- 
bition beckoned  and  then  denied;  where  those 
bound  to  one  by  the  tie  of  kinship  turned  away 
when  one  crossed  their  will;  where  love  mocked, 
friendship  sneered,  and  only  the  dry  husks  re- 
mained! And  he  was  so  young,  and  there  was 
nothing  beyond  but  long  days  of  disappointment 
and  endless  work  leading  nowhere.  He  was  be- 
reft of  all.  He  closed  his  eyes  tiredly.  If  he 
could  only  forget — but  it  was  impossible;  over 
and  over  again,  with  the  celerity  of  thought  that 
visits  the  mind  of  the  drowning,  he,  drowning  in 
the  vortex  of  his  first  great  grief,  a  thousand 
times  went  over  every  scene  in  which  he  had 
199 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

loved  and  dreamed,  unconscious  of  the  fate  that 
was  binding  him  in  the  coils  of  disappointment, 
from  which  there  was  no  escape. 

The  ingenue  had  written  that  she  would  come 
to  the  library  in  a  little  while,  and  when  she 
heard  Kenneth  pass  her  door  and  knew  there  was 
no  danger  of  a  meeting,  she  stole  down-stairs. 
She  knocked  timidly,  and  entered  with  eyes  down- 
cast. She  was  in  her  favorite  white,  with  a  rose- 
bud in  her  golden  hair  and  another  in  her  hand. 
The  soft  ruffles  of  her  gown  trailed  about  her; 
her  spotless  slippers  stole  in  and  out.  She  looked 
so  fresh  and  dainty  that  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
Claridge  Robertson  refrained  from  clasping  her 
in  his  arms;  but  he  did  not  wish  to  frighten  her, 
and  contented  himself  with  taking  her  hand  and 
touching  it  lightly  with  his  lips,  as  he  might  that 
of  a  young  princess  who  had  deigned  to  honor 
him. 

Of  course  Kenneth  was  in  love  with  her;  as 
he  himself  had  said,  how  could  any  man  help  it? 
200 


Vagaries  of  Hearts. 

But  he  was  young  and  would  get  over  it.  The 
griefs  of  youth  are  deep,  but  their  depth  is 
equaled  by  their  transitoriness.  So  mused  the 
statesman,  feeling  that  he  had  been  lonely  in  his 
•  greatness,  and  would  be  still  more  so  if  the  beau- 
tiful dream  should  fade.  He  would  be  like  one 
who  has  gained  a  glimpse  of  heaven,  and  then 
quick-shut  gates  hide  it  forever  from  sight.  Yesr 
Kenneth  would  get  over  it !  there  was  no  call  for 
him  to  sacrifice  himself,  as  he  had  thought,  in  one 
wild  moment,  when  he  had  seen  the  young  man 
prone  before  him.  Kenneth  would  forget.  There 
were  years  of  youth  before  him  that  would  be 
filled  with  women,  from  whom  he  could  make  his 
choice,  while  this  was  his  own  last  chance  of  hap- 
piness. He  must  hold  it  firmly.  He  glanced  at  her. 
She  was  sitting,  smiling,  radiant  and  expectant. 

"  You  have  been  kind  to  me,"  he  ventured,  at 
length ;  "  kinder  than  I  deserved." 

"  It  is  I,"   she  murmured,  "  who  have  been 
honored.     I  feel  so  awkward  and  incompetent  to 
be  your  wife.     You  will  have  to  teach  me." 
201 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

He  drew  his  chair  a  little  nearer.  "  It  will  be 
the  pleasantest  lesson  in  my  life.  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  forget  more  weighty  matters  while  I  watch 
your  progress." 

She  moved  away  a  little  timidly  at  his  next  and 
bolder  advance,  and,  in  order  not  to  frighten  her, 
he  changed  the  conversation. 

"  Our  marriage — "  he  pretended  not  to  see 
the  flush  on  her  cheeks — "  will  have  to  be  at  once. 
I  am  sorry,  for  I  know  you  women  like  a  long 
time  for  preparation.  But  I  must  depart  soon 
after  my  appointment,  and  I  want  you  to  go  with 
me." 

Go  with  him !  She  rather  thought  she  would. 
Did  he  think  for  a  moment  that  she  would  be  left 
behind  ? 

They  discussed  the  details,  and  she  realized  all 
the  importance  and  greatness  of  the  station  to 
which  she  was  called.  She  would  see  photo- 
graphs of  herself  in  the  papers,  and  accounts 
of  her  life ;  she  would  have  to  endure  a  great  deal 
of  attention,  as  soon  as  the  marriage-to-be  was 
202 


Vagaries  of  Hearts. 

announced.  She  was  no  longer  Blanche  Adrian, 
a  nobody,  just  a  pretty  girl  trying  to  establish 
herself  in  life  most  advantageously;  she  was  the 
fiancee  of  one  of  the  greatest  statesmen  of  the 
age,  and  hereafter  even  her  most  ordinary  toi- 
lette, her  goings-out  and  comings-in,  her  incon- 
sequential acts  and  her  trivial  habits,  the  books 
she  read,  the  people  she  visited,  the  this,  that  and 
the  other  would  be  public  property,  and  receive 
the  attention  of  a  press  fevered  with  the  desire 
for  personality. 

Their  conversation  lasted  until  the  chiming  of 
a  clock  roused  them  to  the  necessity  of  bringing1 
it  to  a  close.  She  rose  and  asked  with  an  ador- 
able glance :  "  Shall  I  write  to  mamma  and  tell 
Mrs.  de  la  Mar?" 

"  I  shall  write  at  once,"  he  answered,  "  and 
I  shall  announce  my  happiness  to  the  people  here 
to-day.  I  have  already  told  Kenneth." 

He  was  watching  her  closely,  but  she  showed 
no  agitation. 

"  Was  he  surprised  ?  "  she  asked,  lightly. 
203 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

He  did  not  answer  the  question  directly.  "  He 
desired  me  to  tell  you  that  he  wished  you  every 
happiness  in  the  world." 

With  the  message  of  her  lover  on  his  lips,  he 
-  caught  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  passionately. 

She  was  pale,  and  writhed  herself  free.  There 
were  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  How  could  you  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  my  darling,"  he  said,  gently, 
"  I  should  have  been  more  careful.  But  you 
must  remember  I  have  certain  privileges  now." 

She  did  not  answer.  He  heard  her  fleet  feet 
running  up  the  stairs  as  if  she  were  pursued,  and 
turning  smilingly  to  his  desk  he  took  in  his  hand 
the  note  she  had  written  him,  gazed  at  it  for  a 
moment,  lifted  it  to  his  lips,  and  finally  placed  it 
in  the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat. 


204 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ELYSIAN   FIELDS. 

No  one  ate  luncheon  that  day  in  the  dining- 
room  at  Ilkley  Villa.  Mrs.  de  la  Mar  sent  a  word 
of  excuse  to  her  guests;  she  had  a  headache  and 
could  not  leave  her  room.  The  statesman  was 
busy  in  the  library,  and  asked  that  a  tray  might 
be  sent  him  there.  Mrs.  Deming  and  Kenneth 
took  no  note  of  time  and  were  ignorant  of  the 
passing  of  the  hours,  the  ringing  of  the  bell  and 
the  call  for  the  midday  repast.  The  ingenue 
stole  down  the  back  stairs,  secured  some  cake,  a 
plate  with  an  airy  creation  that  looked  like  a  min- 
iature Eiffel  Tower  of  whipped  cream  and  al- 
monds, and  went  back  to  her  room. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  despatches  commenced 
to  arrive  for  the  Honorable  Claridge  Robertson. 
These  despatches  related  to  his  appointment.    To 
205 


The   Fighting  Chance. 

one  inured  to  the  workings  of  departments,  they 
should  not  have  occasioned  more  than  the  first 
outburst  of  surprise;  that  they  did  more  than 
this  simply  showed  that  a  clever  man  had  been 
wrong  in  his  calculations  and  had  permitted  him- 
self to  hope — when  the  first  lesson  of  govern- 
ment service  is  to  learn  that  he  who  enters  there 
leaves  hope  behind.  Something  had  gone  wrong, 
a  sudden  unforeseen  influence  had  been  brought  to 
bear,  a  foreign  intricacy  had  arisen,  or  a  home 
power  had  touched  a  hidden  wire.  Briefly,  the 
press  notices,  the  rumors  of  the  appointment,  the 
personal  and  semi-official  letters  were  founded  on 
a  mistake,  and  were  already  past  history.  In 
newspaper  offices  men  were  looking  up  the  record 
of  the  man  billeted  to  the  post — this  time  surely. 
That  he  was  little  known  was  immaterial.  It  was 
hinted  by  the  editorials  that  he  was  for  some 
mysterious  reason  safer,  for  in  lieu  of  facts  some- 
thing must  be  given  the  imagination  to  feed 
upon.  Later,  the  statesman  would  receive  letters 
explaining,  offering  sympathy,  hedging  against 
206 


Elysian  Fields. 

blame;  he  had  written  such  letters  himself  and 
knew  what  they  meant.  Until  the  document 
bearing  his  appointment  and  signed  officially  is 
delivered  into  his  hands,  the  man  in  the  service, 
no  matter  what  his  rank,  can  never  be  sure  that 
what  has  been  promised  him  personally,  in  pri- 
vate correspondence  or  in  face-to-face  interviews, 
will  really  be  carried  out. 

It  was  a  blow  to  Claridge  Robertson,  not  alone 
to  his  pride,  for  it  was  the  first  severe  set-back 
he  had  received  in  his  career  for  many  years; 
but  he  also  read  in  it  the  knowledge  of  his  politi- 
cal death.  The  man  against  whom  the  adminis- 
tration has  once  turned  can  never  be  fully  rein- 
stated in  the  public's  favor.  He  carries  always 
about  with  him  an  atmosphere  of  failure,  and 
after-successes  are  rendered  less  striking  by  its 
recollection. 

He  was  still  the  great  man,  but  not  quite  so 

great  as  he  was  yesterday,  although  his  political 

status     had     not     changed.       Just     a     broken 

promise   had   done   this,   and   broken   promises 

207 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

are  powerful  weapons  against  a  rising  man.  He 
set  his  teeth  hard.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but 
to  face  the  music.  He  let  the  hours  slip  away  in 
the  library  while  he  fought  the  battle  of  disap- 
pointment. 

At  the  news  of  his  defeat  what  would  be  the 
feelings  of  his  promised  wife?  He  knew  how 
many  women  shrink  from  the  responsibilities  and 
publicity  of  a  position  like  this,  and  he  believed 
her  one  of  them.  Her  modesty,  her  fears  and 
doubts,  as  they  had  been  expressed  to  him  but  a 
few  hours  before,  led  him  to  the  desired  conclu- 
sion that  the  pleasure  she  would  feel  at  her  re- 
lease would  compensate  him  in  some  measure  for 
his  own  chagrin.  He  had  still  much  to  offer,  as 
much  as  he  had  the  night  when,  in  the  moonlight, 
she  had  given  him  to  suppose  that  he  had  but  to 
ask  her  and  she  would  be  honored  by  his  choice. 
He  would  not  send  her  word.  He  would  wait 
and  tell  her  in  the  porch  that  evening,  when  they 
would  be  quite  alone,  and  her  sweet  sympathy 
would  heal  the  bruises  of  a  heart  not  so  calloused 
208 


Elysian  Fields. 

as  he  had  believed  it  to  the  disappointments  of 
his  profession. 

While  he  fought  his  fight  manfully  in  the  li- 
brary, the  ingenue  in  the  room  above  was  fight- 
ing her  own  battles  all  over  again.  She  had  be- 
lieved them  finished.  She  had  thought  that,  at 
the  finality  of  pen  and  paper,  at  the  clasp  of  hands 
receiving  her  surrender,  the  knowledge  of  cer- 
tainty would  destroy  forever  any  lingering  doubts 
she  might  have  as  to  the  wisdom  of  her  choice. 

But  at  the  touch  of  his  lips  on  hers  all  the  re- 
pulsions of  youth  at  the  kiss  of  age  overwhelmed 
her.  So  marriage  like  this  meant  more  than  she 
had  bargained  for!  It  was  not  a  passive  evil 
that  she  would  not  be  loved  by  the  man  she 
adored,  but  it  meant  an  active  ill  that  she  would 
be  loved  by  someone  whom  she  loathed — yes, 
loathed;  there  was  no  uncertainty  in  the  sum- 
ming up  now.  There  still  were  moments  when 
she  was  true  to  herself,  and  these  moments  lately 
were  more  and  more  frequent.  She  had  thought 
of  Claridge  Robertson  as  a  man  who  would  be 
14  209 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

kind  to  her,  give  her  pretty  dresses,  place  her  in 
a  position  hedged  about  with  definite  delights; 
she  had  hoped  to  find  with  him  excitement  enough 
to  compensate  her  for  the  one  thing  she  would 
lose.  She  knew,  all  at  once,  that  she  was  facing 
a  different  problem — the  problem  that  faces  thous- 
ands of  women  who  sell  themselves  for  material 
things  and  in  the  repellent  force  of  materialism 
find  their  punishment.  She  could  never  accept 
him  for  her  husband — that  was  certain.  The  one 
incautious  embrace  had  undone  all  the  good  he 
had  accomplished  by  his  delicate  attentions  and 
his  promises. 

She  rang  a  bell,  and  at  Jane's  appearance  de- 
manded that  a  time-table  be  brought;  this,  with 
other  directions,  eased  her  mind  of  its  mental 
strain.  She  donned  a  plain  traveling  gown  of 
blue,  with  an  unpretending  little  hat  to  match, 
covered  with  a  chiffon  veil.  She  wrote  a  note 
to  her  hostess,  one  to  the  Honorable  Claridge 
Robertson,  one  to  Edith  Deming;  then  she  de- 
cided to  slip  out  of  the  house  quietly  and  walk 
210 


Elysian  Fields. 

to  the  station.  Jane  was  to  follow  her  the  next 
day  with  her  trunk,  after  receiving  a  telegram 
announcing  her  safe  arrival. 

She  took  her  supper  in  a  quaint  little  inn  near 
the  station,  where  she  watched  the  sunset  slowly 
darken  into  night ;  where  she  sat  with  eyes  closed, 
dreaming  of  the  beautiful  twilight  in  the  rose 
garden,  of  the  seat  about  the  elm,  of  the  Summer- 
house  and  the  boat,  of  the  many  places  where  she 
had  loved,  which  were  to  her  now  hallowed  by 
those  memories.  A  little  smile  stole  over  her  lips, 
and  she  occasionally  studied  her  time-table. 

It  was  early  dusk  when  the  carriage  came  to 
take  Kenneth  Bigelow  to  the  station.  The  states- 
man had  been  in  the  library  all  the  afternoon, 
planning,  struggling,  enduring.  With  the  even- 
ing came  resignation.  He  had  given  his  life  to 
his  country;  it  was  for  his  country  to  decide 
where  he  could  do  the  most  good.  He  no  longer 
felt  the  bitter  resentment  of  the  earlier  hours. 
He  had  learned  the  lesson  of  patience.  He  hid 
211 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

often  remonstrated  with  other  men  who  had 
fought  bitterly  against  what  they  termed  the  in- 
justice of  a  government  that  crushed  out  their 
life  and  left  them  mangled  and  inert.  He  had 
now  to  bring  the  lesson  home  to  himself.  He 
would  take  up  the  reins  again  with  no  uncertain 
grasp,  and  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  take 
the  next  backward  step  he  would  take  it  without 
even  the  protests  he  had  so  far  allowed  himself. 
He  was  but  a  unit,  with  a  unit's  work  to  do;  and, 
having  done  it,  he  must  step  aside  for  newer 
strength.  His  moment  of  bitterness  had  passed. 
He  heard  the  wheels  approach  and  went  out  on 
the  porch  to  say  good-bye. 

The  two  men  clasped  hands  a  long  time.  An 
impulse  came  to  the  statesman.  "  Kenneth,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  tone,  still  fraught  with  feeling,  "  I 
am  not  to  receive  the  appointment,  after  all;  they 
have  sent  me  word  from  the  department." 

"You  mean  it?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  am  sorry."  It  is  hard  for  a  man  to  express 
212 


Elysian  Fields. 

sympathy  for  another,  but  there  was  feeling  in 
the  younger  voice.  Then,  as  he  stepped  into  the 
carriage,  Kenneth  said,  softly,  "  You  have  her." 

"  Yes,  I  have  her." 

That  was  all ;  then  they  parted. 

As  the  carriage  turned,  it  nearly  upset  Edith 
Deming,  who  was  coming  back  to  the  house,  her 
dress  disordered,  her  eyes  swollen  with  weeping. 
She  had  been  all  this  time  in  the  garden,  uncon- 
scious of  the  hours. 

Kenneth  jumped  out  to  say  good-bye.  He 
could  not  ignore  her  appearance.  "  You  are  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  not  ill,"  she  answered,  and  as  she  looked 
at  his  sympathetic  face,  all  at  once  her  dislike 
of  him  seemed  an  unworthy  thing.  Just  because 
he  was  young  and  good  she  had  hated  him,  and 
the  man  she  had  placed  above  him  was  less 
worthy.  "  Not  ill,"  she  repeated,  in  a  tired,  trail- 
ing tone,  "  only  tired,  so  tired." 

He  led  her  gently  to  a  seat  on  the  porch. 

She  pointed  to  the  carriage.     "  There  is  noth- 
ing more  you  can  do ;  do  not  wait." 
213 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

He  touched  his  lips  to  her  fevered  hand. 

"  You  are  kind,"  she  murmured,  gratefully. 
"  I  shall  be  all  right  presently.  I  wish  you  every 
happiness;  you  deserve  it." 

He  ran  down  the  steps  and  jumped  again  into 
the  carriage. 

The  delay  with  Mrs.  Deming  and  the  statesman 
gave  him  just  time  to  take  his  ticket  and  get 
his  seat.  The  car  was  full,  and  he  did  not  notice 
a  quiet  little  figure,  veiled,  with  dark  dress  and 
hat,  which  had  followed  him. 

At  the  junction  this  train,  a  local,  waited  an 
hour  for  the  up-express  to  pass.  He  jumped 
out  and  walked  restlessly  back  and  forth.  He 
was  anxious  to  have  everything  over  now — to  go 
to  his  father  and  tell  him  that  he  had  come  back 
for  good,  willing  even  to  take  up  the  hated  work ; 
it  could,  at  least,  prevent  him  from  thinking,  and 
that  seemed  at  present  the  only  thing  in  life 
worth  while.  He  went  over  again  the  events 
of  the  last  weeks.  He  admitted  the  equipment 
that  had  been  allotted  him — youth,  health,  the 
214 


Elysian  Fields. 

power  to  please  others,  opportunity  coming  when 
he  knew  it,  not  skulking  by  in  the  night  but  meet- 
ing him  open-faced,  with  forelock  ready  to  be 
caught  in  his  willing  fingers.  He  was  going 
home  disillusioned,  disappointed,  with  nothing 
gained.  His  fighting  chance  had  been  given  him, 
and  he  had  accomplished  naught. 

The  sight  of  Edith  Deming's  face  had  pro- 
duced a  strange  feeling  of  sympathy  in  his  heart, 
which  he  had  never  experienced  before.  One 
must  suffer  in  order  to  feel  the  suffering  of  others. 
There  must  be  many  in  trouble  whom  he  might 
reach.  This  was  what  a  man  should  have — 
something  to  lift  him  out  of  the  commonplace, 
something  besides  his  own  gain.  He  had  been 
denied  all  else.  Perhaps  this  was  what  kept 
men  from  despair,  suicide — the  knowledge  that 
they  were  of  some  help  to  their  kind. 

He  felt  a  soft,  ungloved  hand  stealing  through 
his  arm,  and  little  fingers  interlaced  his  own. 

"Kenneth,    dear,    you   will    forgive   me?     I 

really  didn't  mean  it — I " 

215 


The  Fighting  Chance. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her.  His  whole  body 
trembled  in  an  ecstasy  of  feeling.  Was  it  a 
dream  ?  He  had  felt  the  same  sensation  when  he 
returned  from  unconsciousness. 

"You-— it  is  you?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,"  said  the  ingenue,  timidly,  as  if 
she  felt  it  necessary  to  apologize  for  the  fact  of 
her  existence.  "  I  want  you  to  take  me  home 
with  you,  Kenneth — or  anywhere — I  don't  care, 
so  I  am  with  you.  I  can't  live  without  you." 

He  could  not  grasp  her  meaning  all  at  once. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  so,"  and  she  withdrew  her 
hands  to  cover  her  face ;  "  it  was  bad  enough  to 
run  away,  and  follow  you,  without  having  you 
look  at  me  like  that." 

"  But  I  don't  understand.  You  mean  that  you 
have  changed  your  mind  again — that  you  really 
love  me,  as  I  believed ;  that  you  are  not  going  to 
marry  Mr.  Robertson?  Oh,  tell  me,  dear,  what 
do  you  mean  ?  I  don't  dare  believe,  I  don't  dare 
hope — I  have  suffered  so." 

"  Listen,  Kenneth."  She  tried  to  make  the 
216 


Elysian  Fields. 

situation  less  tragic.  "  I  was  tempted  for  a  while 
— any  girl  would  have  been — and  I  did  want  to 
wear  low-cut  gowns;  you  know  one  never  can 
where  you  live " 

"  Low-cut  gowns  ?  What  have  they  to  do 
with  it  ?  "  He  was  still  more  bewildered. 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  some  day,  soon,  dear ; 
I  can't  now.  Well,  I  thought  it  all  over  and  con- 
cluded that  I  couldn't  stand  him;  he's  old,  and 
I'm  young,  and  so  are  you.  I  believed  I  could 
marry  for  ambition,  to  please  mamma — no,  not 
mamma — to  please  myself,  and  all  that,  but  I 
can't.  Don't  you  understand  now?  Don't  be 
stupid." 

"I'm  not  stupid,  but  it's  hard  for  a  man  to  real- 
ize heaven  all  at  once." 

The  beauty  and  luxury  of  Ilkley  Villa  had  been 
left  behind.  The  gibbous  moon  was  rising  over 
the  rose  garden;  everywhere  were  the  hush  and 
glory  of  the  night;  the  lake,  on  which  dipped  a 
miniature  canoe  tied  to  a  little  wharf,  was  lag- 
217 


The   Fighting  Chance. 

ping  the  bank  with  musical  waves;  there  was  a 
swinging  lantern  throwing  long  scarlet  streams  in 
the  Summer-house,  there  were  the  brilliant  stars 
overhead,  and  the  harmony  of  far-away  players. 
About  them  was  the  disorder  of  a  wayside  station, 
with  its  ugly,  two-storied  building,  its  bare  plat- 
form, a  dusty  way-train  hideously  commonplace, 
the  road  to  the  track  stony  and  grass-grown.  But 
they  were  conscious  of  their  environment ;  to  them 
the  wooden  shanty  was  as  beautiful  as  the  Taj 
Mahal,  the  road  a  golden  path  with  one  end  in 
paradise,  the  train  itself  a  wonderful  air-ship  to 
take  them  about  a  strange  universe. 

Not  one  thought  of  harshness  had  entered  Ken- 
neth Bigelow's  mind  concerning  the  ingenue.  Al- 
ways he  had  shielded  her  from  his  own  criticism ; 
she  was  young,  impressionable,  and  he  had  taken 
too  much  for  granted — that  was  all.  He  had 
wished  her  to  be  happy  and  ignorant  of  his  own 
suffering. 

And  she — she  was  a  modern  Undine  who  had 
found  her  soul  through  love.  She  had  freed  her- 
218 


Elysian  Fields. 

self  from  the  threads  of  insincerity,  of  futile 
ambitions,  of  dissatisfactions  that  were  binding 
her  every  day  more  closely,  and  from  which  soon 
it  would  be  too  late  to  escape.  As  Edith  Deming 
had  told  her,  it  was  her  one  chance  of  happiness 
— her  righting  chance,  and  she  had  taken  it, 
seized  it  just  as  it  was  getting  beyond  her  reach. 
She  regretted  no  more.  She  had  gained  all  that 
was  worth  while. 

The  whistle  of  the  up-train  broke  into  their  rev- 
eries. They  watched  the  monster  coming  nearer, 
nearer,  nearer,  sweeping  toward  them  with  re- 
sistless force,  tearing  by  without  a  second's  pause, 
then  gradually  disappearing,  leaving  a  spark- 
flecked  cloud  behind. 

The  whistle  of  their  own  train  followed;  then 
the  "All  aboard!"  They  clambered  in,  and, 
hand  in  hand,  in  the  narrow  seat  of  the  local, 
pursued  their  way — started  on  the  long  path  that 
they  were  to  traverse  together,  the  long  path  that 
leads,  when  love  guards  it,  into  the  Elysian 
Fields. 

FINIS 


in  Style  and  Price  Ik  Ibis  Volume 


The  Following  2Sc.  Illustrated  Novels: 
1Z-THE  CONQRESSnAN'S  WIFE 

"By  John  2>.  "Barry 

1 1— THE  MIDDLE  COURSE 

"By  Mrj.  Tottlinty  'Bigeloto 

10— THE  TRIFLER 

"By  Archibald  Eyre 
9— HEARTS  AFLAME 

'By  Louise  Winter 

8— THE  CAREER  OF  flRS.  OSBORNE 

"By  Helen  Milecele 

7— THE  FIGHTING  CHANCE 

"By  Gertrude  Lynch 

6— A  PURITAN  WITCH 

"By  Margin  Dana 

5— ARABY 

"By  "Baronejj  i)on  Htttten 
4_WINNINQ  HIH  BACK 

"By  Anita  Vittanti  Chartrej 

3 -THE  VULGARIANS 

*By  Edgar  Fatvcett 

2-niSS  SYLVESTER'S  MARRIAGE 

"By  Cecil  Charlej 

1— THE  WIDOW  IN  THE  SOUTH 

"By  Teresa  "Dean 


THE  SMART  SET  PUBLISHING  CO. 
452  FIFTH  AVB.,  NEW  YORK 


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